CERI NAZ

CERI NAZ

CALL ME CYPHER

I walk along the way

like a zilch under a fig tree

there is a moment of clarity

as I hatch the eggs

of sundry loose ends

I talk once and maybe more

out of the machines

running wild inside

my remaining veins

how can I be smaller

when I drive to Sin City

how can I be a deadbolt

when I share stories of inflamed hearts

how can I be a grinch

when I utter the rots and clots

of my angry throat

how can I be a hermit

when I see all like squares

how can I be a scarce

when I fill scars and farts

to others' empty bottles

how much numbers can tell

if I have no one

but my beautiful self.

© CERI NAZ  JUNE