What is the colour…?

Take
my hands
and
tie them
to
those
butterfly wings
that quiver
beneath
my chest

Scratch
my breath
with the
ripped
edges
of
yesterday’s news.

Burn it
with
bay leaves

Watch
the frail
imperceptible
curls
of smoke
try
to
squeeze
through
my fingers.

Walk
my thoughts
on
the heels
of
your
stilettos

See
the bouquet
of
docile chickens
tethered
to his
hands
as they
resign
themselves
to their
fate.

Slaves
that peck
at
each other’s
eyes
bound
but
not gagged
except
for
the
silent
particles
of
futility
colonising
their veins.

What
is
the
colour
of
this
cage?
our feet
splayed
in
confused
directions
as
digital
streams
send
abusive
voices
sprayed
by
cowards
hiding
behind
cryptic names
those
cyber nicabs
the
digital
invisibility
cloaks
that turn
slugs
into
tyrants
with teeth.

Jib, 1926 hours, 30 November 2012