Unguligrade

Lost
In elaborate
Oblast-wide
And aboriginal
Anarchical
Ladybird-shaped
Labyrinths
Of my clockwork mind,
No way in
And no
Way out,
No signs in a concrete sky,
No internationalist help,
Just dead ends,
Drainage channels
Shaped for my tears
And Time.

Always
Subtle,
Time.

To speak,
I open my mouth,
Move my lichen-lips
And mossy nostrils
And larynx about,
But no words now
Come out.

And though
I summoned
A squall
Of thoughts
Thunderous
As ten thousand
Stampeding
Elephantine
And rhinoceros
Feet beneath
My howdah-like hope,
Those walls were not
Demolished
Nor even diminished,
My life no more
Than a demoted
Capitalist’s
Grey plastic trope.

Their hunting party
Marched onwards,
Tusks sharpened,
Banners and bluster,
Oblivious to
A hurting man
Not far beneath
Where unguligrade
Digital comforts
Impact under
Those herdsmen,
Those conglomerates
Entombing sand,
Dust and undergrowth,
By perrisodactylic
Surfaces
Engulfed.

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