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Home » Poetry » Issue 5 » Uncountable


when your house is languishing in hunger
and the possibilities of evading anguish of constant pangs of empty bellies is to face the demons existing outside of your sorry self.
perplexed you are to fathom you know how to silence your struggles,
but your struggle is your father’s own ejaculation.

what are the possibilities of you doing what ought to be done?
you scaling that mountain and soiling its perverted weight
to see you can indeed scold the ice-cold disparate world without being a desperate kiss.

but knowing there is too much good in you to outweigh and unbalance the ills of father,
though slippery they maybe in rivulets full of slimy green algae
slippery as its ills slithering in their snakedom-
a kingdom of venom.

but that is naught
to the grip of knowing
so much you can do,
so much you can achieve.
gates from hunger in your house
are never dry cemeteries in your mind.

so you can choose now
to have yours a sinking grave and forever be forgotten
or carve your own epitaph and grow your own flora and fauna
and frown forever at nowhereness;
knowing with every drop of pain, tears yield rain,
and flowers endear veins to grow beautiful on graves now not sinking;

so you can know there is no lost cause for visible crypts.
gates of hades will with a first trumpet call open wide
or with a lazarus come forth calling, open wide.
you see, possibilities are grains of sand on beaches.

who amongst men has sat on that beach
and with a ruler discriminate them all;
1,2,3,4 them all to the last grain?
how then can your own brain,
your own rain of escaping hunger in your own home
be gathered and abacussed?

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