MONOLOGUES

HELLO
If you have time to spare, if you think you dare,
come here - my fears want to say hello to you.

KINDERGARTEN RESIDUES
Buried here in this junkyard
of new friends and old foes,
mongrels fight over my dry bones.
Ghosts wave from underneath the pebbles
as my eyeballs float with Goldie,
the goldfish – now dead and belly-up,
in my father’s new aquarium.
Pockmarked dolls in rabbit skin
visit me at night, their limbs torn
by my best friend’s yellow fangs.
My head is a fountain that won’t run dry,
there’s blood on my face
and a smear of childhood ashes
that just won’t wash away.

THE ARMY OF ME
Marching boots leave the dust hanging
mid-air in the jagged landscape of my mind,
this army of me I can’t contain;
Did you really think love was the cure
to silence these voices in my head?

My army, they march on, unstoppable,
trampling my head, crushing your heart;
under my skin they crawl, I’m their Valkyrie.
With a string of words I defeat love
and, with you, the voices die in my head.

SUFFRAGE [Suffer the Rage]
Those on the pedestal wield the scepter
to trample over infirm and bent backs
Anointed to do our thinking, our bidding
Injected with strength to muffle dissident voices
Powered by majority to gang rape our dreams
Quick and silent falls the popular axe
of the people, by the people, for the people,
silencing the rage of the suffering masses.

BLACK
Mind smeared black by bloated devil pens,
parasites grow fatter on our expense.
Our land made hollow by termites;
tongues glued to the roof, taxi cabs are our hearses.

Locked outside a members-only Shangrila,
backs bent in spastic submission,
faint voices obliterated;
living from cheque to cheque, dignity headed for the grave.

Son of Thekong Tek, born to be ruled upon,
a Palestinian in his own Israel.
Crushed under empty declarations
and bloating concrete rises; fallen, never to rise again.

YOU TURNED THE OTHER CHEEK
Yes, I hate the haters,
the oppressors, the dictators!
But more than them
I hate you, you spineless turd!

DEATH IN THE MORNING
Twisted metal gives us our wake up call,
warm blood rejuvenates our groggy souls;
mangled bodies in the gorge lie still,
as strangers huddle for a closer view.