I cried I cried till my lungs were dry All night it seamed Look at my swelled eyes I'm cold I'm wet I'm dirty I cried I cried Nobody came Am I the blame In the darken alley way I was tossed away Are others treated the same I cried I cried Wrapped in a sack No clothes on my back Covered dirt and debris Fallen from the dumpster above me I cried I cried Until someone heard me Her eyes glared into mine Mine into hers Both our water tear Eyes cried I saw angel I felt an angel Hold me tonight
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,
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