My cluttered words now flap
As truce-flags in dry wind.
Crawling towards hope that
Dare might mean
They stutter and falter
And cringe into a blank
That leaves my page unimproved.
Scalding in unremitting heatwave at
I stagger with soles now pasted in pitch
With a tongue that is parched to the root.
Born and bred amidst rubbish and grime
These my droplets of void that’ll keep
Scores of loss of disposable hopes.