There where my heart’s faucet’s drop drips
deliberately dreaming a despair-less day,
only soon to meet the excreta of the day
Anesthetized in descent by both
The cool round nothingness surrounding
and the thought of soon warm embrace of tap temp regret
Its arrival, an acheless ripple
in an aching ocean of the day’s ripening sweat,
activates a distant memory of what is to come
Violent silence
Bones bled dry
A question on the edge of that point that cannot avoid
it but is destined to never touch
Am I becoming the drop or the pool?
Alikzandre Marais is first and foremost a provocateur, relishing every opportunity to engage the seemingly unintelligible anima of existence through any medium or genre and relinquishing none. At times he can be found playing a part in the educational landscape, participating in building tomorrow.