what a twisted time
water is thirsty
and words are soundless
pockets of void repeated

to the point of frenzy
do you discern the language
of water? what does awareness
mean? a followed insight?

a post-modern fickleness
written in the rented minutes
of a room in the glass tower
of powers by a candle of oil?

what does truth convey
coming from the mouth
of a banker who invests in
the warfare enterprise?

are your long-held dreams
a breath of compassion?
or a fancy field hidden
from what we fear?

here leeches of future
play chess with me on
the impasse of my random
fields of black gold

I stare without moving
my queen cornered by my pawns
their king, intrigued, leaps
my black elephant in the room 

I’m a timid chess player
at twisted times when
water is thirsty and words
are soundless pockets of void

on the Island of Utopia
where people rule
over lexicon of life
wetness returns to water.