Boiled and Bleeding Tongues
Memory
formed like a collector
seeded in sweat
blood; droplets of pain
lost in layers
among buried souls
burnt to ashes
on rotten grounds
memory speaks
in coloured codes
that rise and fall
on deaf ears
on dead drums
that can’t make sense
of rainbow sounds
that stretch and whistle
from dawn to dusk
bent across a cloudy sky
from down under
to mountain high
Oblivion
what would it take
to see the void
the emptiness
under the blue sea
covered by
a blanket
of dark awareness
slits of shadows
by moonlight reflections
stretched across
a coastline
devoid of waves
full of forgetfulness
just on a glide
on wings of oblivion
to another level
yet another round
of mindless grind
on distant shores
or; bare the good old bones
right here
in living memory?
Truth
so loud; from on high
wired in words
fenced by inner silence
denial reigns
on tripe and boiled tongues
only to land; on frozen ears
as for the eyes
the witness; off the scene
is now-here to be seen
but still on guard; for more lies
Mental Grind
when the mind
is under the tremor
of the real kind
the tongue bleeds
in vibration
the mouth opens
as if; in a volcanic eruption
only to spew out; words
from down the pit
of bottomless lungs
that high fly
in the air
soon to drop
like lava; by the wayside
in slow motion
in black ink and… dry!
Gabriel Guangul
28 August 2009
