By Kevin Scheepers
The desperation of neat little boxes,
The despair of perfect labels;
Stable entities that dare not change without prior notice.
A moth disinterested in distinguishing simulacra from simulacrum,
The dragon could not take such liberties.
The unintentional incantations you utter,
Billets-doux to yourself, remaining unanswered.
Couldn't reach you over there on planet apathy,
Burnt the curtains for warmth; a useful artifice,
Exposed the bare building like lifting a diaphanous veil.
The furtive intimacy of strangers,
Caught without an umbrella in the afternoon rain.
Cherubs, seraphs and fallen angels.
Came to the same conclusions decades apart,
Decoding the sweet, pellucid poetry of white noise.
Kevin Scheepers is a 27-year old man from Pretoria, South Africa. He completed an MSc in Biotechnology in 2023, but always maintained a personal interest in the written arts, particularly poetry. His work has previously been published in Audience Askew.
Academy of the Heart And Mind 