[ poetry - august 06 ]
I came into this world a phosphorous glow,
shocking all I touched; sunlight from my fingers,
lightning from my toes. They spoke
of too much sulphides in the blood, fed me
scraps of information, wired up my head.
I'm more than Mr Firefly, a battery man,
unknown supply - I can move the hands of clocks
or make a harp lament, but can't short-circuit
hurt, an everyday event, longing for
that neutralising touch. I'm sick
of these manifestations, performing tasks
and tricks; crackle in my isobars of rage.