Heavy bass ballasts the grounds
proclaiming war
in its raw form,
I rest a creak apart
from some random man;
Not looking to be saved
The situation would suggest a desperate posse
looking for respect
as the poet pays mind
to the moment and
thinks of handshakes he regrets.
Frank was a transporter, and yes,
his merch was taxed,
but the journey on liquid diets
is only matched
by the essence of tonics old,
this tree transports
to a dimension
where my demons
are my friends.
Karl Sibanda is a self-published author of two collections of poetry gunning for a new life away from past great expectations of doctoral or otherwise righteous profession. Sometimes simply recognised as Karl Leon his blog “the KNL” is a place where he can water the seeds of poetic justice in the minds of others. On his Instagram (@karlsibanda) he matches imagery with the mystique of words to match.