Hoodwinked Knight

Struggling with my brother
I draw back my dark hair
our conversation is black
between his eyes a frown
that cuts through white paper.

Words seems less than fed
thoughts fry into empty stoves.
A Tiresias dumped into Cassandra's
enclave of yesterday's unbelieved secrets.

If our lost faces found small change,
plastic bottles would greet heaven
in Maoist jewellery stores stock-piled
with green gold and hoodwinked sapphires
that burn mercenary ideas into gems.

I hear you my brother,
though i admit nothing...yet.