80% perspiration

  the ground feeds us the song of the spun seasons.  The countrywide fire raze through the cocoon   of the many voices that we call home. it is there  we carry, all the dead, all the  harmattan seeds  bouying the waves of bird wings fleeing the opera  of silence. it is there we roll the mat into the maw  of godless yawn, like yam heads, we plant headstones  to count the teeth of war. where the footprints  of leaf boats sail into sunbeams still reeling  from the brightly lit fingers of missiles are,  you  will find the baby toes of flowers fluttering  out of the miserly dirt, eager like any child to play  with bullets, roll with tank wheels, dangle from the lip  of hellfire. The soil is soft with sin, thick like black  flies, the heat curling from its tongue like a pipe  smouldering with the ashen remains of many forgotten  names. where are our brothers & sisters? for widows  in weeds ...

Let's break back on the sternum of this earth, grind the teeth of trees into the long legged noon. Come, is this not why we are here— to crush the towers of sky into the hungry bosom of the sea? Have we not been violent to the grass sticking their flimsy blades in retort? Have we not cooked the soil seeking for roasted nuts hiding golden seeds? Come, let's bend the waist of the wind into service, let it revolve, gods let it revolt the earth from the milky way into the distant stars dying their unwitnessed deaths. Come, let us be righteous about this, let us call the name of gods & carry their name like bloody axes into night. Come one, come all. Note: It has been a very long time since i bothered with this blog. So much has changed in my life since then. The blog still remains my room for poetry and experimentation. I hope that i will be able to bring to you both works that touch me and my own works that hopefully will touch you.  If you have been waiting for my return, tha...