Monday 28 September 2009
My Turn
Turn, the Slate is cleaned
by a rerun to my beginning
an eternity now in moments
This jumping goat
bleated on its last hoof
Ensconced down in the dirty
With face of smiling Sun
The epitaph reads
Before the forlorn witness
That Survived me
living behind bars with no roof
Years bear the grace
But, like an airborne ball
to a ground that draws close
my shadow grows, once distant
then completely forgets this turn
2009
The Grail
It is to this end, Oh Demonedes
I state my challenge
for it is my life’s search, for a voice
that I scour in muck
2009
The Benin Thread
The smell of Red dust
Harbinger of the warm rain drop
Hurrying divers nowhere
Eyeing curved backsides, atop a weaving bike
through fried fish in plantain smells
in a thread that never knew it started
2009
A tail of power
It will swallow you whole
That which follows me
Draws close
So beware not to bestraddle me
for some jaunt.
It that burns without stoking
Hurts without intending
Will slip through the wall
and burst open, your crack
2009
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