he never answers..
i’m not surprised
he never replies to
the questions asked of him
they are..probably
unreal and beyond
logic
does this make any sense ?
i’ll ask him tomorrow...
why tomorrow..
i’ll ask him
why me...?
the stain of sins past
engraved
in the palms of my hands
hardly makes sense....
is it my imagination ?
Welcome!
The poems in this beautifully bound book are a result of over twenty years of observations. Observations of the world around us and on the telecommunications network. All of the hate, love, heroism, disasters, and those who help.
Beautif
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,