haiku x2

The world goes distant.

I can feel myself

slipping

dissipating

into the words,

the worlds

that I bring life to.

Somehow I feel 

betrayed, 

A world which 

Begins with the 

Click of the 

Day, with 

Every tick 

From the clock 

Going round, 

Hounding the day till 

I drag myself out,

“Harris is a communist,” My grandfather protests. 

“Better a communist than a felon,” My father shoots back.