Your tribe removes
the top third
of your womens little finger
when they are born
...
We are born through ineloquent and
Agonising torture.
Hit and torn, yowling,
In even your evil, laughing,
...
Six months I stayed in Emma’s room
And watched her in the mornings weave
Her long fingers through her fine hair;
Faded violet, gone from a moment of expression
...
Six-sided confessional cube stands full of guilt and dark deeds done,
No window here, no false light from a supposed Holy sun.
And I sit among the scent of remorse, dishonour and crime
Walls whisper 'Hail Mary' as the punished receive their time.
...
To attempt to write a poem without knowing the form;
Is as daunting as Everest;
Knowing unseen peaks cackle in scorn
To rain down in howling storm
...