Something goes through
by Driss Ezzireg
A tree full of juicy fruit
Calls for the fiery sundown.
While womanly splashing pride
Ignites the birth of warring tribe.
And vibes emerging from farthest space
Touch the hearts of hungry stray dogs.
Your numbers speaking of interest rates
Quicken up the flow of manly hate.
If rich and poor pour their wrath
On rats that live in barren fields,
What will snakes boast if not of
Desert sands that have teeth?
My contortions before incredulous
Crowds are but gesticulations
Of a drowning species,
The birth of earthen folklore.
Matters matter and flattering only
Scatters most sincere convictions.
I decline invitations for presumptuous
My surrealistic claims
Clear the horizon, unchain the mind
Rest on the crest of snowy hinds.