Predawn philosophy

too tired to ponder,
too awake to sleep,
the breath of morning
poking ribs.

The humming light that draws a
finger to tip tip tap.
I wonder if I should stop.

I should resist the poets,
the ones I can not stand
to read.
the ones that bleed
brilliance in flickering streams.

admiration and disdain.
Is that too strong a juxtaposition
or is it just like all act of confession?
Bitter when you lay on the
wrong side of it.

Is all prejudice green envy
in a dress suit?

Is the
dumbing down of humanity
salvation or destruction?
Or just some science
experiment, conducted
by a god that cares more
of the hill than of the ants.

Colonies develop unique
so what is holy on my mountain
must be holy everywhere.
The red on your forehead
makes you my enemy.

Skin is identity, hair ethnicity
and in my garden we are wasps
and tolerate no butterflies.

The cries of children
beneath rubble,
a hand outstretched,
a belly distended with

Prejudice of despair polarised,
eyes see in black and white
over a miraculous day or two.
And a jaded star raises a fist
and sings.

“There was a lot of rocking going on that night”

3 thoughts on “Predawn philosophy

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