'I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be'
Glimpsed in the strips of light
And plate into corners as
I've caught that scent
Of times that have seeped
And trickled through my fingers in vain.
I've fired my shots
And tried my spears
And gambled with harpoon in sling -
Drowned in the ocean
Of dried brown hours
These, my cultivated weeds that sprawl
And cover my walls of silence in gloom.
Trimmed with sounds
Of neighbours in soaps
And deafened with bombarded ads
I slouch in the couch
And text Ross and Guil
And lock my Denmark of Shame.