Adrian Borda

My heart cartwheels across the page

I am always young when I write

Always alive but more importantly free

Without ink the eclipse would be infinite

The death state whence I refuse to intimate

Even a fraction of the emotions raging within

Would entice me irrevocably to silence


My identity resides in a plastic barrel

Slimmer than the antenna that guides

My teeth are brittle as peppermint

I stroke the soles of my shoes

Against the sidewalk while biting my lip

But the trajectory is always reversed


I haven’t got it, that spark that makes a man

Something so much greater than what he is

I cannot persuade even in the ecstasy of truth

Someone must be wrong to preserve the status

The joker shuffled unintentionally into

A caste for which he alone does not fit