anger

anxious and empty
murmuring words to myself
as in the desert

myself murmuring
anxious and empty dry words
blowing with the sand

as in the desert
murmuring words to myself
anxious and empty

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photograph

I am younger there
the door has been painted since
my hands tremble now

dust-devils

light swirls from within

past scrub grass burnt by the sun

majestic whirling

microscope

poetry is there
magnified four hundred times
in the shape of love

poetry

words flat on a page
are like a six string guitar
waiting to be strummed

bee

my honey is made
of words dropped onto the page
in my own language

lice

just saying the word

causes an itch all over

some words have power

treasure

work pays with fatigue
the pure wages of the poor
in need of rich sleep