Henry Giles House

Since the sun no longer boasts its talents on the skymaps of my synapse
alive in nightime residues I blink in silent dorms
despite the fact that silence traps the air inside my thunderlungs
my hearts neighbour winces at signposts to the cellar door
Born in a refrain and led by the windsweep
I walk among the tidal waves and flying plagues of locusts
Mr rickshaw – a thousand tonnes of bricks my only customer
a haiku handshake short of everything I thought I knew before
We are the last few long forgotten – time capsule time lapses gone rotten and lost
but the harvest did not visit this annum - a pillage fest
lacerated pages shimmer and shine on these riverbank cypher spots
So I harvest the hardship and carve cast iron dark armies out of sandcastle mush
see its part of the bargain to grapple right angles and tarnish them up - why?
Because the world is not martian enough

To forgive is to forget the things that matter the most

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