Migrant piece Nr.2
September 5th, 2020
As walking exceeds
the speed of speech
So the journey
untells the meanings you’ve built
Around vessels pre-emptied
Streets distant and void
Skeletons, bare concrete
Analogical tools
I am in the city
Name I don’t dare to
Pronouncing my steps
Wet dry naked outside sentence
Palace in ashes
Eyelids fatigued
Have looked at the fires
Was it a war, a riot, a feast?
Sense bellow knees disappears
Words can not but duck
Oh, i wish my wish was way more
transparent
Transporting logs of trees that were saved
Buckets of grass
Way outnumbered by cattle
This town more like
village
If villages hadn’t gone much sooner
Where do i go? as I go
On the sidewalk of a pool
Shooting someone something
Guess bullets were cheap
Locally sourced
Perhaps for the locals
to feed
King and queen but a memory
of a ghost of a shadow
Thick my fat smartly stored
for famine
Iris, rose, whatever the vase
Discoloured white black
White heat
Too white this shade
I dream, I assume, for no thing’s
like this
Quicker the syllables
Can’t outrun the spelling
Must wake up
To walk the way of
horrors
The richer they got
The poorer it felt
Power consumed
in expanding extensions
That were bound to contain
endless echoes
instead of a source
The root was dug out
Or were those branches?
Upside down
In contradictory bliss
How know when the known
and the knowing
are unknown?
Ha! to that
which hijacked
the revolution of dreams
Speeches by Selma
My laughter is a
lethal weapon
Or so I hope
In vain
Can’t walk
Won’t wake
And so I decide
To lie down
In sleep
Can’t hurt
Heart closer to earth
Black after sunset
on sunless planet
No laws of physics
can explain this charade
though real, so real
Fuck it
I lay down and let
the mayhem pass
In digital circles
Feedback back on feedback
Hypnotizing this mess
Like mass or the masses
Opus and opium
Get stronger by day
when there is one
to come by
Stop thinking, I’m texting
Birds tweeting
Delusions
Illusions
Lesions
I’m less
of a prophet
Unless time runs backwards
Weird words
Wired lords
to fences
Sheep fucking smiling
So big the mouth
So ready the teeth
Sweet sweat first supper
Last god
No more sons
Come daughters
Dart them
Bull’s eye, circumference
Thing is so bloated
Can’t miss it
And I do miss
nights that
calm and gentle
in vortex
of fury
My furry
My ferry
My sea
Weeds and seeds
My body I had
Transformed past your skin
Different of kin
Same of a kind
Kindly destroying
leftovers
Grinding the rust off of chains
Imprisoned in our ankles
Invisible, almost accepted
An enhancement of a desire
to dance
I’m still asleep
Not ready to stand
As wretched and the wretchers
Wither with minimum wind
Wind it up
Alas, too hot to augment
the breeze
Chords and cords
Cards and cardiac arrest
Guards do their duty
Cordially errupting in chorus
To protect and serve
Botswanian free range oxen
to western and eastern
upper class
While importing salted
fish bones and heads
for the classless
Masters of unfinished records
Played in virtual imaginary
Listen up
Down with the masters
Lay down your tired bodies
Cool are the weapons
when viewed sideways
Through blades of summer grass
Sun is shining uneasy
Brightly colouring all
the burnt out pigments
Pigs smelling like mint
Menthol in my ale
All is in one
And one is in all
When you sleep in your dream
of sedated dreams
Dogs barking at the pigeons
that drink river waters
A child, a mother, a dad
Sometimes double of each
Ah, how beautiful life is
when death not in here
Wake up!
Dirty rags clinging to body through blood
Wake up!
More sweat lost than water intake
Wake up!
Bones shattered look like hard candy
Wake up!
I’m not a man
I’m a brick
Wake up!
I’m not a man
I’m thousand petals growing out
into rocks and lowroads concrete
I’m not a man
I’m acid
I’m countless snowflakes landing
on the summer beaches and into your saunas
I’m not a man
I walk
My desire is that we
come round
and as you speak
I autotune the vowels
Promting us to sing
I’m not a man
I run
My desire is that we share
the soil that’s not ashes
And when you grow peppers
I add salt to it
So our bloodpressure rises
To that of the angels
that escaped godly fires
I’m not a man
I have dreams
But my nightmares
are faster
Irrespective of my desire
The carnage continues
As I’m no longer able to fall
Asleep in my sleep
Standing someplace in
the city
I feel my legs disappear
to the tune of clapping hands
Properly handled by security
men
I’m not a man
We know
That’s why we are packing you
I’m not a man
I am poet
My desire is for somebody
To wake instead of me
And do it like it should be
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