Paper Plane

there's a book called Crash
with an obsession for steel:
cold brushed metal,
shiny, silky, sex-appeal
taming the taboos of fetish
into something playful and coquettish
where moral disorder
is allowed to seep through the borders
and soak the brain
in indelible nausea
it's fiction I hear you say
and not realistic in the way
white man has defined modern social order.

but take away the Ballard surreal,
and it feels cold remembering steel.
there’s no light
cos the windows are sealed
and no night cos
the bulbs stay up late
hanging in rooms
we called ‘triple 8’.
Mother’s womb – death tombs
made for no escape,
measured to scare off all remaining pleasure
8 feet long:
pale green, steel frame, wire mesh oblong
8 feet high:
every day I paint the ceiling with sky
8 feet wide:
it smells like a goddamned zoo inside!
cos the animals that don't abide
don’t get no soap
so they fester and itch
in suits that were stitched
to gag your body, your mind and your hope,
of its instinctive pursuit
to sweat in the heat, oh the infernal heat!
so you lie on your bed,
and try not to repeat the words you’ve been fed

i scream in my dreams
at a boy of just three
his mum and his dad lie down by the sea
he’s licking ice-cream
and it’s sweet and it’s cool
but the next step he takes
leads him to fall
a voice cuts the scene
both, foot and ravine
it’s Jones and his gun
grinning like thieves
cos its time - time for their fun.

bang, crackle, pop!
damp wood on top
of the open log fire
that provides me with heat
in my winter retreat.
the book I was reading
falls to the floor
the TV is on, there’s a knock at the door.
I get up from the chair, turn off the box,
glance at my watch and straighten my hair
it’s three in the morning,
pitch black outside
who could it be?
I’m scared but don’t hide.
so I undo the locks and take off the chains
no one is there but a white paper plane.

i unfold its wings and return by the fire
there’s a message in black
and I start to perspire.
whose writing is this?
who's playing this game?
will I ever be free
from this gut wrenching pain?
i sink in my chair, take a sip from my glass
redo the wings, let it fly through the air
It spirals and falls,
comes to rest in the flames
and I read one last time
while it shrivels and fades:

"we watch, you pray"