Waterforest

I know this street
I walked this street,
When they still called it broccoli

By any measure
I felt the strain of its fiber
Riot as night terrors
Whispering to insomniacs
All the years it took old broccoli to break
When shadows hawked along its walk
Creating a community of silhouettes
That replaced each other
In swaying guard,
Day and night

I know this street
I walked this street
When they still called it Broccoli

- wf 2008 -

I lie in the corner-quiet
For my ma this once
She needs the sleep today
It’s her first in a week.
Though asphyxiation makes me black
I can’t call her
To fit this tube in
The doctor says it no use without India
It’s so sad I have to leave you ma.

It, was
A mere detachment
Or is it safety
I think that is what it has always been.
Now, I have to think of other ways to avoid you
Since Marie prayed
And I can’t stop her smiling throughout her choir place.
I could have joined the choir, you know
But how can it be
This is a continuous embrace of sacrilege
All those souls converged in prayer, me in wild thought
Someone plays a piano someplace out there
That is where I am drawn.
Alright! Job 16:12

This like is greatly dis-tended
To include knotting
What I can’t wonder understanding
Is why it should ever come to tie
Bits, thoughts, memories, hates, clichés
In all but one occurrence,
Welcome me to my frantic excite
I am never going to walk away from
Is it mental! Is it a ritual!
Heaving all this bulk like this
Into this snatchy habit
Can it smile ever again, this lip
When the teeth bares thus in place
This like is greatly mis-tended
We certainly cannot walk away this time
This like is past like

I have lost my faith
Looking on, thinking about this heist
That fugitive within the spirit of my thought
I can’t hold to this moribund wraith any more
That’s the root of my consciences’ unease
Taking that you have let me be
I like your Sunday muse,
When smart kids run to church
With their parents tagging along labouring to
keep their shoes shine
And later walk home, hungry, hurrying to
eat lunch-
I like my Sunday muse
When I sit on the verandah listening to
Biggie
Worrying about his pride in bed-
Me, worrying about the space that is morrow.

Almost last

Your fear today can't distract my fear
This one hell I shall despise with pleasure
With the whole world perplexed, wondering
With a whole night of illuminating bliss
Stalled for my review.
With a woman looking out past the window
Crying.
For the memory of ever coming
And
Leaving here untouched.
This is the only realm of perfection
That I get to explain myself with
Aesthetic love, endless heaven
and a hell
U are personally courting.
Why should anyone care,
When I don’t?

The last pixel and the after things

How can I love to be interested in your reality?
When all I see is the aura of sorrowful people
Walking there laden with strange wiry baggage
The devil comes today to sign a pact with this cynic
Whose new vision he got
From the illusion the dog had
Hanging in the wrong space
This lithe feeling is discomforting
When you walk on your toe tips.

I saw my wife today
Leaning against her hoe
Looking earnestly at me
Passing by in the bus,
My face distorted against
The sun’s glare on the bus window.
Examining her countenance with new dedication
Feeling all her thoughts pinging mine.
We looked at each other for as long as it mattered
Long after the bus turned into the next bend
And we slept holding each other
Long into a night that ended so fast
When I was thrown out of the bus
For unnecessarily sleeping too much
Long after the bus had reached its destination

Something has rustled this bog
Where the water leaves a clog
An ulcer shouts out in shades of mud
Mingled in sorts…a brown dust stretch
Rounding beyond the green swamp,
Greenery peeking in this turmoil
Helplessly gazing at the staid sky,
Haplessly awaiting towing
Or compression,
Kids mould some play here
Thinking this is the best play
They have made of the day
And yet like their memory
I cannot remember how it all looked before
Before the grader came;
I think there was an ant hill here
Or was it over there.
Tomorrow could bring yet another feature
More interesting, say like a whole new hill here
And we could start all over again
Trying to demolish it,
Trying to remember what it was that was here.

I think it was-
Reeking of fresh scenery,
The kind where the dust smells aromatic
Dancing in some dry wind.
Breeding these toads and algae and lilies
Beneath the green film over the water
It’s well I forgot what it looked like
I don’t think I want to remember this either
Pointing me to some memory unknown
That cloud couldn’t have drifted that fast
The heaps of soil looks jaded
That gulley is such an art piece
Tell me what tomorrow is like;

Each time I walk away
Not bothering to look back
Drumming my fingers on the side of my bag
Trying not to feel the pain
Trying not to look sad
I know she stands rooted
In the spot I left her
Dreaming about how I fare
Dream walking along my lazy strides
Knowing I rush away without my will
Driven by the conscience that distances me from her
Something inherent in my thoughtless panic
We both don’t forget the parting
And we stay that way long
Till we meet again

Each time I walk away
I think a lot about her
Standing, looking at the space I left blank
Lingering in the hope I will-
I can change my mind

The rain falls in torrents
That glean the streets
And when in that undecided sum
Sharp blongs of sun rundown
It all ends with a sunny blast
Railing all hopes for a cool day