Poetry Blogs (2018, wounds)

Invaded Identity

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I am me

Who said this? 

So is my body

An invaded custody

Occupied by her

Thoughts and memories

Two sided glossaries

Not a reflection is mine

That would determine

My own identity

Out of my sanctity

 

I may be a string

Of any cacophonous Sitar

Where she creates

On my wounds

Riot of sounds

Without bounds

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Mirage

 Mirage

 

Beyond these indifferent walls

lies a second carapace,

pierced by small, green eyes

in a shimmering face.

It is not my own,

but lies are truths for actors;

they bandage wounds

when the liars rebel

while fleeing, open-mouthed,

from their savage selves.

 

Christopher Hubbard

Perth 2016

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