I am the man to destroy disorder.
I am the man to destroy the man who destroys disorder.
I whistle parrot calls to permeate borders.
I dress in fashionable finery disorder.
Is there an angel in a love affair?
Is hatred an army in beds of fear?
We cloud over the city,
to dissolve in temporary pity.
Silence has a golden touch.
Emptiness is filled for lunch.
I promise to back you up.
Sediment is my favourite cup.
Umbrellas acknowledge black rain.
Kites are brittle in our name.
Bullets are eyes of the guilty.
These are days of self-pity.
I am your heart.
I am every breath you take.
A small pulse in your neck signals stress.
I stroke this as a purring cat.
We are raised from the grass.
What we need to climb is our pass.
You lift beyond the darkest one.
Blindness is in the ball of the sun.
By Gary LangfordQLRS Vol. 17 No. 1 Jan 2018