Poetry

Encountering a dislocated self, 
here it goes, the “I”, 
flicking out the name 
which will reach nowhere. 
 
The foreword will not 
disclose the contents of 
the book. It was reading 
only a footnote. 
 
I place a searing moon 
on your plate. You can take 
a slice of it and gulp 
your agony. 
 
The arrival does not finish 
the journey. There are far― 
away worlds beyond 
your fantasies.