Poem: Africa


Oh, to get moving

And to feel my hips rolling again!

I turn back to Africa

Pre-European Africa

Unimaginable Africa

In fact, Pre-European Anything,

Even Pre-Chinese China!

The very essence of previousness;

That’s what I want to embody

I will become a master of cave art

And impress you with the mandalas

I’ll construct from donkey dung

How do I rebuild the universe

Now that it lies in ashes –

In tatters?

The kiss of life

Bit the throat

Of the throbbing, hummingbird silence

Singing deeply

Into the stones

I’ll apply my make-up

The patterns of reality

That careen through us all

Always urging me

Back to the pre-

To that torturous antiquity

So alive in its beauty

That pre-dawn naturalness

Where the idea of artificiality

Could not even be conceived

Let alone woven

Into society’s ugly conduct

I will conduct myself

With regal idiocy

With intergalactic tedium

As I meditate for hours

My position is not lotus

But more like lily-pad

As the savage reptiles of experience

Swarm all over me

It would almost be exciting

If it weren’t so exhilaratingly heart-breaking

So the excitement goes up a notch

The testicular fear mounting

Not able to separate

Self from self

Or find trust

In what I distrust the most

The poster of my lady

Hangs naked on my wall

Frosty red skin

Like the allure of a thousand flowers

Swirling in a collapsing sky

Elbows and wrists be-spangled

Her arrow pointing back

To Aboriginal Art

And all those caves

Those mystical caves

Those secret caves

That seem to contain

The mystery of it all

Yawning mouths

Unconscious, gaping,

Primordial mouths

That tunnel towards the truth

I won’t sit in lotus

But in the posture of royal ease

Dancing on the tamed corpse of pleasure

And the monkeys I saw

In a forgotten dream

Far too long ago

I could tell you

All my dreams –

They were like little smoke signals

Warning signs

Of all my irresistible insecurities

That I just had to

Carry through

Too much karma

To program you

To be a fool

Like me

But I still have

My Vajra Pride

Warrish teeth

And outrageous eyes

That will look upon


You would rather not have


That’s the terror of eyes

The ability to look

To seek out and spy

Investigating all your atrocities

Your unlabelled secrets

You keep in the crime scene

Of your darkest heart

Each secret will synapse

Into a nightmare well broadcast

I will tell it to the world

Turn your dirty sheets into newspapers

All those times

You needed me

To mop your brow

Because it throbbed with the pain

Of those still living

You would burrow your head

Into me

Seeking out

My softness of texture

To act as a plaster

To the pain of experience

Sometimes affectionate

Sometimes not

Like when you broke your elbow

And my hypnotist charm

Was not enough

To send you out to sea

In return, these eyes

That see too much

Without any clarity

Ache painfully

All the time

Teeth tragic

As they chime in with despair

Self-conscious with abuse

I am not trying to prove anything

By writing all this about you

It just drips from my pen

As I follow the trickle

The present opens wide –

I feel peaceful and confined

I have my voodoo doll

Are you ready to be twisted?



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