The Wall

There is something between us As plain as day, or the greens on A child’s untouched plate    This space, empty as a hand That catches wind or Love in the absence of hate   Nestled between us, resolute as a Suicide bomber, this wall, its  Existence eager to satiate Advertisements

Good boy

My jests are lost on you, On your fur weaved with realism Like a tic it pinches, you scratch With a look of Chaplin   Now I have lost in you My humour and my interest Why don’t you just patch Your virtues with one sin   Sit! Good boy.