Can’t cut
Can’t cut off
a cockcrow
from boleros.
A dialogue of chromosomes.
There is no
There is no exit
from the bloodpulse
of an African night.
Raise the cup
to the lips of a thornbush.
Cosmophagic, he makes
the arrow sing.
Raise the decibel.
Hear what a
Scenery says to the spurned.
She eats soap
To whiten her fate.
No one told them
about the dissembling of bloodlines.
(From PRIVATE 36 – AFRIKA, p. 69)
