Port Elizabeth,South Africa

I don’t want to write,I have to
Because talking to water bottles and chairs won’t do
I’m slowly pulling away like a charter boat
Its horn announcing that it won’t be there
To be admired or dreamed about
My friends on the dock are not waving
Eyes elsewhere,deaf to traffic

(Or perhaps it’s just a water faucet calling into the night.)

I watch my own hand extended
Palm out,palm down,never up
The silent words never heard,never mouthed
Only behind chained doors do they see the light of day…

How long will I prevent the heat of chance an audience
before me?
Can change breathe life into a soul with both hands
across its mouth?
Can values maintain their integrity in a vacuum growing?
To stop thinking and just to live
To be on my own side
To sleep,to sleep…