493 / GREEN LINE / OMNI
December 2024 - about my daily four to five hour commute on public transit at the time...
this CITY HATES YOU THIS
city HATES YOU IT
loves YOUR FEW HUNDRED DOLLARS BUT
you. YOURSELF ARE DESPISED
-
these DAYS YOU ARE CHEWED
days SPENT BETWEEN ITS METAL TEETH
you ARE CRUSHED AS YOU
traverse DOWN ITS CONCRETE THROAT
its NOT PERSONAL BUT YOUR
body IS ALREADY IN ITS MAW, READY TO BE CRUNCHED
like A COLLECTION OF MERE CARTILAGE
a JUNK CAR, MADE OF MEAT, A
louse POPPED UNDERNEATH A MANICURED NAIL
among THE MASSES YEARNING TO BREATHE FREE
bloated AS THEIR FLESH CONGEALS TOGETHER WHILE
ticks. IN SPORTS CARS FEAST ON THEIR REMAINS
-
mind-numbing VIVACITY, VAPIDITY IN
videos WHERE YOU STAR AS A PASSERBY AMONG THE
beautiful RICH AND SUPERIOR
poetry IN THE TRAIN CARS ABOUT THE
city THAT HATES YOU
glittering WITH A WEALTH THAT HATES YOU
strangers GLARING BECAUSE YOU RUINED THEIR SHOT
smiling TO THEIR AUDIENCE
back TURNED TO THE POOR
you ARE VERMIN, NOT MEANT TO
preservere.
-
Baby Chicken Boy
July 2025 - about coloured chicks
Your maleness deemed you useless,
Gave them reason to be ruthless,
Practicality spared you the knife,
And thrust you in to dye,
Stained pink for life
Caged and displayed, little toy
The beast that compelled them
bought you, brought you, named you
Cooed and called you its little baby chicken boy
---
So I held you in the palm of my hand
You closed your eyes in the crook of my neck
We sleep in the sun, you peck
Dig worms from the dirt,
Shake, defecate gently on my shirt
My little baby chicken boy
---
By June,
Your legs have grown tall
Candied feathers fall,
You fluff marigold.
---
Come the Monsoon,
You become heavier to hold,
Your chirrups turn to bawks,
I’m told youre a bother
Needing a bigger box.
So I leave you in the coop,
Watch you dig worms from the dirt,
Peck at my pants, poop on my shirt,
--
In July,
I visit you when it’s dry,
When the sky,
Begins to bloat, I
Kiss you goodbye,
The clouds open their throat,
And begin to cry,
I sit in my room,
And let you die.