There is a path
in which I walk
down to your room
on the days
I agree to meet you
The days I give up
struggling alone
to the room where
I revisit 8th grade inflictions
I once put on myself
And you
You sit there telling me
that this is not a dream
This is a reality
that has begun
dissecting a heart
A heart that sends out blood
of blind emotion
in every direction
and forgive me
if I don’t reply
I just don’t feel
a psychoanalyzation
into your perception
of this human condition
will ever justify
my love for you.
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,
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
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I will be revisiting this often!