escher poetry — [Q]

hand in hand
we loving nations
slowly strangle our alternative selves
as we skip step
this poverty crazed
homeland path
to the waterfall
the tigers’ lore

mumbles the senile monkey
who stiffly skips to sombre trees
dreaming of swinging again
drool in his fur
pain in his walk
flames in the canopy

standing over the game board
counting the steps the die threw
tapping the pieces
their self–determined courses
wondering whether these imagined lives
are as real as the washing out of doubt
i can’t bring myself …