Monday, January 3, 2011

Response to "amarachi by night": For the Dreamweaver and his lovely Rosa.

words  are not
enough
i need finger-pad
in that well where
neck meets two
collarbones
meets the stretch of
skin taunt against body
frame formed for love
and living 
twin-towers naked against the
elements
leaning towards
Latin layered crescendo of crazed aria
 insouciant operetta,
calculated madness,
sensational passion,
endless adulation,
sublime adoration.

She is light
that paints
shadow pattern latticework with
your darkness,
crimson flow of
atonement for sins
hidden in blind corners of
your soul
accident prone carnivore
you devour your victims still
warm from the kill
She is rest to
harried screams of
choo-choo train wheels
careening through
track  of
your wandering mind
withered heart
She bleeds into your
bone dry ventricles
channels clogged with
debris of broken dreams and
dusty desire
my brother in
weary journey of loves
too quickly found just as
quickly gone
let her breathe
Jehovah-love
into your
prison chest of
yellowed lace memories
let her read you soliloquy from
the mind of grandames of neo-soul
let this Chemistry set you free
my mind-over-these-matters-brother-lover
may your intellectual kinship
ever bring to mind your heavenly kingship
paint your thoughts in
bright colors of that
ancient rainbow
let her remind you of
rain
sweet
sustenance from
heaven’s gardeners
diligently bidding you to
burst into a sturdy sycamore.

I speak of you our Nikolai Gogol from the edge of the sub-saharan West…you genius of words…and your darling Rosa …no one else.

"Amarachi by Night" by the Dreamweaver

Words are not 
enough.
I need the sinew 
of bone/the
propitiation of blood, 
of heart, of touch 
to seal 
the spell of
the Magister's 
enchantment..

Safe, sweet 
and sorry 
have never 
been enough.
I need 
an edge 
of darkness; 
Deep storms 
of feeling 
that cruelly
lash 
into vulnerable 
places or strum 
the strings of 
desire.
That is the secret 
of my loving; 
that edginess/darkness/
madness; those
tiptoes of fear, 
foreboding and
helpless wanting; 
the carrot 
& stick of touch/
the opera 
of anger/the 
dirty dancing/the 
double-edged sword 
of remembering.
I speak of love
for Rosa
and no other.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Saturday Evening Study break: A Dialogue with Mr. Adekanye

Dim stage. Single wooden butcher's block table flanked by two antique ladder back chairs on each end. Kayode and Amarachi enter and sit silently with a half empty bottle of 1952 Macallan single malt scotch between them.

K: It is the tragedy of misplaced timing: he loved her first and bled for her...she loved him with a heart riddled with doubts and now that love has overcome the fear & the sweetness comes easy...it is too late because they have lost each other to the bad parts of each other in a 3 year guerilla warfare equal part tenderness equal part bitterness.

Nothing ever prepares you for the double edged sword that love can be, it can give you wings and it can rend your soul into fragments of emptiness. When the wings unfold is when there are no vistas to fly to, when the wind is blowing is when it is snowing in your soul and you cannot fly but huddle in fear and remorse....

(kayode falls silent)

A: But we love still...finger pads screaming...railing against the writing of yet another useless email...pecking out yet another foolish blackberry message...red light spider indicator sending yet another missive to another maybe false champion of your maybe misplaced, maladroit attempt to find another who understands your soul..one who can...play the entire string section to your heartbeat's orchestra...(derisive laugh)...and there is that crazed bagpipe scurl of what may be...dirge singing your heart back into..silent death or...triumphant occupation of hearth built stone for stone by identically calloused yet hopeful hearts...

I have long come to accept that I exist in a world where very few understand my name...but the thought that my mate will remain in ignorant miseducation brought on by...season after season of failed foray into love's cruel circus...lulled into desperate silence... that he will be alone...angry and impotent with the thought that I do not exist...that God somehow forgot to make me for him...will kill me...and so to save myself from my death...I must continue to claw through this mass of misanthropes...until i clasp the hand my Maker made to fit...perfectly within my own...

The words you speak are familiar dearest Kayode...and I understand the disgust you feel each time yet another advance devolves into chaotic bullshit...but I remain determined to unfurl my limbs from their clamped rictus of grotesque new pain...and attempt to turn each of these snowstorms you speak of into fire diamond rain...I mean..what the hell else are we supposed to do?

(And scene)

Sunday, September 19, 2010

..and so it begins...!

...like fire-ants wild from a wild bushfire..we careen towards our destinies in what is becoming an unreal insistence on the rescue of this world that we have killed...fascinated by the exquisite pain...how can we deny loud ringing in that lonely corner of our brains that...is calling for a halt...to this strange need to be saviors of a lost idea...it all needs to start again...if we really want things to change.

Sunday, May 30, 2010

…it is the deliberateness of the thing…



Let’s take a train trip to this our...so-called eternity and back love…
buy passage to a delightfully blended world of…
…avid, mortifying affection that demands a crippling strength
to acceptance of the thing that will break me …and let you in…
to places that enchant with… disquieting sound…creeping tendrils of
…all surrounding sound…arias that lull into love…
yes...i know i am on causeway of …fast free flow of
ultimately useless endearment…
careening towards a fragile forever….
and yes...full knowledge that you do not possess power to promise my happiness does not bring halt to this my... maybe foolhardy free fall into you…
…but know that you also…must choose to stay at each stop…
because you see….it will end well…only if it ends with us.

Sunday, May 23, 2010

My King and I

it is a circular love
this love that you have for me…
endless in its measure
it roams for miles around my world and
brings me…sweet-meats from every shore…
my room is filled with…demonstrations of your ardor…
you adore…/
when you…..flood my senses with…rich reed scent of that Nile…/
as you/…cover my rough places...
with...finest shea-butter from Gambia’s baobab tapper…coaxing skin of my brow into…./love faces
and you…. whisper to me with anglo-franco symphony… polyglot of Zim and Zaire
your presence brings sweetness to my soul…/sighing endless breaths into soulful song…/I sing your praises to life in my life…..
I think on it endlessly…and still/…I have no memory of my life before you…
You give me power in prayer…/a love for this life…/and great expectations for forever….
...with you...
so...abide with me my love…
…and only go….if you take me with you.

sport

…now that you have opened your face to the way things are…in this place…
now/...we can truly play this game of/…professional love…
unconditional discovery of each stone that makes this…pleasure mountain…so great…
I cannot wait to show you how to find the peaks….as your fingers play hide and seek…/
within each crevice of this supple rock face…/we are finding dim caves of brave secrets…/plant your flag on this place my friend….mark your territory…
…for this land is mine…it is yours…it is ours.