Mid-Atlantic

Being Partial

I was a man
and I was trying to save a woman in danger.

I picked her up in my arms
and flew.

Flying like a frog swimming in air
I ditched our nameless pursuer

and landed. There was a guy
waiting for us

who looked
like a king.

Caught.
Now I have to accept the punishment

for saving the woman.
First,

we have to take a shower.
The effect is to loosen

the skin from the muscle
until it peels off.

The woman
picks up the pieces of my skin and

Lagos

Lagos you are dirty
Your sand is soiled
Your fruits pithy.

I am tied to you
in a strange land
by lines that queue up
for foodstuffs you
should be eating but
ship off to me here
where I stand on check
out lines and marvel
at the cost of one
paw paw, just one mango
singular, along and apart
from you my dirty city.

O Lagos, your streets
are packed and pollute
the air while here in
a smug smogged city
I choke.

as i fly over this time

as i fly over this time
rising over only this
so much painted suffering
unseen grimaces and stares
among spruce greens
these few forests left
all of us trying to be alone
quiet and blind.
*
i see soldiers in bus stations
with colored names
polaroid shots
their girlfriends chew gum
smile wide
*
in all this silver of sky
like stars these wheels
car gears lampshades
electrical refuse
zen oiled and greased

skinny-dippin’ in the gene pool

the streets of hell are also paved
with fear of contagion
I have been swimming
in enough barbed-wire waters to know
you’ re not even safe on the beach
it’ s not just your “body fluids”
it’ s the grime of your skin
those dirty things you think

they are cleaning up the world again
I can see the inflammation
heartbreak & hunger scurry me down
on the road to Damascus
I want to be blinded like Saul
for the sake of vision
not just cause I can’ t take it anymore

the attack could not be seen by night

this little phase
keeps on the same way
without variety
jazz and compromise
making blue snow grow at the windows
mohair fumes clog my throat like cats
flames pounce without burning
shadows gather in parkas at my back
turn so i can see your face
stand where i can see you man
should someone phone
i will tell whoever it is
i cannot escape this night
even saxophones do not dry
light the brown sweat
terror in white doorways
under multicolored covers
there is no way to sleep

Egg

The bluebird's cold mistimed egg
fetched up from the one-legged
box after the pair had left for
points south & unknown (never,
as it turned out, to return) I
renested in the half-geode by
the windowsill where it gleamed
&, months becoming years, seemed
about to last forever, grow more
consistent with itself, holding its pure

Pages