an anachorism of red

i live in fear when he brings his gaze to
me stories of dissent on this i feed /
under the covers and quiet to his
demands / alone i peek out with one eye
and colour my peculiar world with
deft strokes / all the thoughts i will paint red /

canvas of the mind with slashes of red /
title after title what a dream to
have a never-ending hum to work with
a fragile unrelenting trope to feed
of off / i work under his scumbled eye
fill my notes with opposition to his

plans / i cave in and invite a friend his
body the sun muting all greens to red
and we dance all the day under his eye
until all colours take on a glow / to
the dark night we say what is there to feed
on / we are alone and together with

a million thoughts and the horizon with
its torn paper trees / the soft strokes of his
brush play long on my mind / a constant feed
of sparks that want to be captured in red /
so i search for a path both catchy to
the wayward mind and pleasing to the eye /

and it is with a full belly and eye
that we will sit and discuss our plan with
grease-stained plates in the sink / left it late to
wash up / we will watch a country flex his
muscles until the veins start running red
and we will sing a mournful song to feed

our strength / the nation’s news a gliding feed
of murky colours / let us poke the eye
while a country sees only the red
of this tender rebellion acts with
small impact thin markings of gripe on his
pervading dream / the one we unsubscribe to /

it was never enough to stop the feed
from reaching his audience with blind eye
with stone heart / we feed on green and spew red

Have you read my chapbook Digging for Sylvia.

You can download it for free from Google Drive or Dropbox.