6
Lance Nizami
Keen I have no name, only an edge Sometimes it cuts Sometimes it cuts into others Sometimes it cuts with my wit Sometimes it shaves their patience thin My edge Not stainless but stained Not perfect but streaked Not unique to me, perhaps There must be others who have edges
Evolving by Means of Sleep 1. Toss, turn, and dream Consolidate your memories Explore your fears, through fantasies Be better in the morning 2. Tomorrow, sun will rise I wake from my disturbance I take my place among the troubled
And yet no other edge but mine, for me And no-one wants my edge; there is no envy Each one has their own, their own desire I have no name, only an edge And sometimes it cuts
3. Black covers, front and back This notebook; is this life? No secrets from the Other Side – Indeed, is there an Other Side?
I told my wife, My mind is a blade She said: don’t harm yourself.
Here, no stories credible And so we wait and hope We hope, sans hopes, that we will live forever.
Burst An unmuted baby squeals A muted trumpet squeals Is a baby a trumpet? A stick strikes a cymbal The air crashes around me The air itself crashes around me And then the air recovers, and so the drummer’s arm – And a trumpet blows again, and the heavens open-up: and rain – And a baby, face now glistening-wet, looks skyward, beaming –
