Your promises were the stuff moonbeams are made of.
Maybe that’s why i didn’t see through them.
Now I sit here in halves
while across the harbor
the winds change
and the sea ripples underbelly
rounding of pebbles, small as planets.
Did you know the star we gazed at
is many times the size of Mother earth?
And by the way do you still wish on falling stars?
Because the last time i did
it turned out to be a burning jet
with 200 aboard
screaming their heads off.
I built my road inwards
‘neath a colour of slate.
Weeds sprung from my footsteps to obliterate.
Within walls i have a baby grand lying on its side,
its plexus in methodical confusion.
Here no feet-fall fathom
no birds drop,
only the walls crack with a knuckular sound
dribbling slow sand.
Through the only window facing west
a weak sun swabs a sky of menstrual blood.
Along the asphalt path
autumn shot leaves rattled like dice.
In double ranks, with heads bowed low
A handful of relatives
six coolies. And a poet at dusk.
Aves fell from our lips like tears.
His Mother almost twice his age
proffered her arms as if to give him life,
her brows un-wrinkling his childhood days.
Clods of earth hammered
the coffin lid like fists.
Beneath a mute sky we bowed our heads to pray.
At dusk we turned for home.
A good simple soul had passed away.
pressed against the wall
Are you afraid of man?
Come now, wipe the blood of your face
And let me console you.
You who thrive in darkness know that
Man was born in it and it will be
His winding sheet when his breath
And the rhythm of his pulse
Begins to fumble.
He is afraid of it. (Mark that down).
Since it was his beginning
And will be his end.
It is this darkness he worships
And it is this darkness
that will triumph in the end.
So the next time he kicks you in the face
Mock him for what he fears the most.
My facial muscles are secured with twine
But only I know which ones to pull
because the face is mine.
– – –
I started off with my toes
ate them unsalted for a day.
Then broke a molar on a sudden pedal bone.
Today i polished off a knuckle.
But tell me
Do I qualify as a cannibal?
– – –
He will visit me no more
He now observes me from outside the door.
The last time he visited
he left screaming, wiping away blood and saliva.
It is really safer to keep him out.
He is getting more unpredictable by the day.
It is not that we do not remember
the blood and snap of tendons
loud as gunshots.
The jaw working loose like a monkey wrench.
And familiar last words.
It is not that we have forgotton
the mouth crushed like a lily
reeking of blood and vinegar.
In fact our bread has the pallor of ash
And our waters still taste of blood.
Plebes the Phoenician a long time dead
tested the waters with an eroded digital.
He read the bones of Man and beast
shifting on the ocean floor
so turning on his side
he returned to sleep.
Once long ago, she came to him
indelibly finger-printed by many.
“Are you a virgin” he asked
Scorching her with an evangelical glare?
Today, he is a successful stamp-collector
and some of his most prized collections
bear the multiple ravages of use.
The air is thin here
thin as arrowroot.
No one answers by name
strange codes exist, semantics is a weapon
and meanings are shuffled by the minute.
A square has many angles
straight lines always meet at infinity.
Talent is a taxi cab
and necrosis is contagious.
All to one end:
A lead role in a corporate pantomime.
You can be:
A fierce but lisping despot;
A mad marshmallow;
A yardstick that grows like a penis;
Or any exciting orifice that works for you;
The Fort Knox;
Orb the holy Roman Pontiff;
A demon with his sexual organ for a mouth;
Or a housefly.
Until the final curtain fall.
Then “fade to black“.
I am the pulse of this evening city
indicated in red.
I read like a cipher: destination DN.
I brighten as i leave
connecting cities and people
who mean nothing to me.
I am the last commuter after midnight
masturbating in an empty brake’
amidst the stench of damaged vegetables
and accidental fish.
I am the oscillating fan en-caged in black
someone switches me on
I do not respond.
I am the lone signal
with one eye wounded.
I am the last train after mid-night
always indicated, i seldom arrive.
I am the final passenger
wrapped up in a shawl
blurt your finger at me
And I fall.
here’s a new sky blunt with implications.
Even the clouds have been drawn back to reveal.
The road is lost between deadpan hills
and the sign board squeaks on a flat note.
Now, i have discarded my sandals
and made myself at home in the dust.
neither thou or i knowest what we do
yet in your infinite wisdom
you give me a crutch?