Millennial kingdom

Our bases touch the earth

Collecting dust, debris
Weights to push

Or pull,
Dragging us to centre

Where infernos blaze
Set by match dropped

By passer-through
Arms reaching to hold

Hands of the timepiece
Just beyond our grasp,

Hung on a ceiling
By crooked fritters

That anteceded our blooming
And ditched concrete

Where our roots
Were meant to grow.

We drink from
Weakened aqueducts

And feed on
Poisonous sprouts,

AND THEY WONDER
Why our words slur

And ideas slip and slide
Noway gaining instigation

Shot down
Like adversary aeroplane


Before true flight
Indeed begins.

And we wonder
When our turn to run

Will arrive.

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