No Winds for Cold Shoulders by Jessica Ni Leacai

What crime committed here,
an octave above your displeasure,
a fool left in his leisure.

The swelter how it traveled,
in this concrete desert of refutes,
heating my glass caging.

And me elevated above demolition,
these ruins of metropolis burning,
my coals cinerated patience.

I force my generator to power,
my fuses blown by audiences’ voltages,
wavelengths of static minds

This poem can be read on


About jessienileacai

Irish speaker and artist. I love music, art, languages,literature, history, travel, photography, and comedy. I love Ireland, my heritage, the old ways and the beauty and people of this small island and its surrounding tiny islands
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