Implosion

Doorways to destiny’s legerdemain come alive

after demitasse has leavened. Epiphanies:

asymmetries must realign. Judging someone

knocking at your door is incipient of intent.

Unanointed by chrisms of understanding wayfarers

of words graze with ease. There is no shortage of

sheeple. Excess as in punalua is best eschewed.

Parageusia freezes my feint to be listless in love.

The tenuity of deus ex machina escapes no-one. 

 Originally appears in Postcolonial Text, Vol 11, No 2 (2016)