Saturday, 20 September 2014

The social justice warrior in four seasons

The social justice warrior in four seasons

A tanka cycle

Spring blossoms. I write
on bare skin in our combined
sexual juices
a fawning review of your
terrible video game.

Summer winds blow favours
from friends. Undeserved status
wealth and influence.
Your money buys the ink for
my pen that sings your praises.

Autumn rot. The body
that we pronounced dead rises.
I, a megaphone,
cannot drown its words or still
the voice of my enemy.

Winter snows. Our febrile
heat cracks the ice underfoot.
A cold spider web
showing through starved foundations
slowly pulls itself apart.

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