Bleach

There’s a light dust in the air
Particles settling like feathers
On lungs and turning collars
A shade darker than the white
Persil bleached reflection
There’s a hum in the air
Lingering dead space
Not quite silence, but I can hear
My footsteps treading on
Chalk coloured stone
Disintegrating houses
Under summer skies
A gust of wind blows life
Back into the brief pause
A second to take in the
Magnitude and energy
To grieve in-between breaths

Bleach

Blink

I think a lot about time
How its dimensions crash
Through the narrow fields
Of rice and wheat
Ploughing relentlessly
Towards the inevitable
Concluding scenes
Stories that end
Hold greater power
Than stagnant mouldy
Soap left against the taps
For baths I never take
Time finds a way to get
Under my skin
The dark nail filed
Trimmed hair grows longer
Autumnal weather blows
Solitary axes to grind out
A life made of the scraps
As if it’s enough to halt
The silent stare of
Juxtaposed spectrums
Everything happening
In one blink

Blink

Biohazard

It’s hard to write poems
Like you’re a voice for
A generation of artists
Suffering in silence
Apathetic about stagnant
Careers in thrift managing
To exist day-to-day
Without ending it.
Glumly, I flick through pages
Of questionable merit
Every job needs a portfolio
Nobody uses filters to cut
Shit included to pad it out
Give it a noticeable weight
A polished golden biohazard
Charged at the industry rate

Biohazard