Not
the dripping words from rotund cheeks
Or
the mesmerized audience in fashionable conferences
Not
the frantic letters pawned from sacred pages
Nor
the cowering force of conviction in hallowed institutes
Neither
the skewed statistics manufactured on swivelling chairs
Abi
omniscient,omnipresent hard-mini-traitors know me
Rather,
I am the brackish fluid in hunger gorged sockets
the menacing cloud in the orphans eyes
the rumblimg rage in growling bellies
the taut thread on diseased diaphragms
the bloodless taste of conquered cities
the shriek from stripped streets
the chaos from breadless tables and passionless beds
and the repugnant smell of decaying dreams
I AM POVERTY!
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