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.

...for this my bond-man in Bristol...

we spoke...124...or ....maybe more... sixty second tick-tocks...
like rush of breath...it came and went...
and again we.../ covered the space in this age when
we were gone from each other...
...and again..it felt like it was just
yesterday...
when we last joined our tongues in...
song and dance of verbal mah jong...
connecting matching wall paper squares like...
....children joined at the hip...like water-baby mer-babies...free-fall-flow... our syllables made...
pretty patchwork portraits of those..../moments in our lives...
we had missed....
before we spoke....
i will...see you in your room in Bristol tonight...behind your closed eyes
beloved...and we will live in our/sacred hiding place...
until the next time we speak.

...it is the inevitability of the thing...

It is our weakness that joins us

our last ditch effort to

hold some sort of connection with our…

two for one fantastic reality…

we lay about us…

with imagined sobriety…mouse traps

Set to catch us before…. we fall again

Into that familiar unfortunate eden

Mirage-like oasis…gone too quickly

Strong long strokes in… endless sea of compromise

we do not know when the final call will blow

signaling the end of our summer swim meet..

an away game where… no one could possibly win..

our consolation remains in the thought that

we have a date with two root-beer floats in Miss. Jessie’s diner

you and I

that yet again….we will meet at the end

you and i.

olofofo

it was a small thing…
no direct words…no obvious look…
it was... the small things…flicker of his right eye-lid…
minuscule flaring of his nostrils…
quickened pulse in left temple…and I knew
it was time to make for the door…
leaving behind ...foul fragrance of my falsehood…
I watched my soul-man disintegrate before my eyes…
...he knew…
How?…I don’t know…
was it fresh smell of fresh foreign saliva…lingering on my…
freshly kissed lower lip…
Was it…
new crease on my…delicately woven scarf…Hermes bond of truth…
come ever so slightly undone…
Or was it…residue of flesh under my...tapered fingernails…
remnants of rawness shut-off behind closed door of…
...the linen closet he had watched me steal through…
mere minutes before…
It was the small things….
Heightened sensation on finger pulse-points from all sides…sought to point me out…
Find me out…
Flushed out by deep flush on my cheeks…
I welcomed the cold night….beneath my skirt…
Still warm from passion incomplete…
Frozen dis-satisfaction…
I sat frozen on leather seat of desire misfired…
Final engine rev of resolve carried me away into night colored with ink smoke…
And I resolved to put an end to it…tomorrow.

chatter

Words railing against railings of strictured silence

It is still a struggle to

Put through this pen-ultimate vehicle

These things that talk inside of these fore-corners

So I strip my mind of it’s lethargy and

Wear the conspiracy of thought and action

As talisman about my neck

Nestled within that hollowed movement

Throbbing gong of warning…

Telling all bearers of false news to

Stay away

For I want, this day, to speak only the truth.

Once upon a time in the city of Jos.

Water clot in my neck…is…/thick knot of tears for Danladi’s mother…

….whose dust filled screams echo in blue black night…long after they both died …ten seconds apart…/ “who will milk the goats tomorrow morning Danladi if you die today…/who will bring Baba’s kunu Danladi…if you die today…/who will wash pebbles at the well with Sundiata… Danladi if you die today.../who will….”

…he could smell her fear…Danladi could…the putrid scent of her shit…her very bowels sending up supplication to the marauders from hell… as she begged for the fire to fall on him first…so…her son would not see her burn…/he could still hear crunch of his father’s skull unfamiliar with the heel of an intruder’s boot…/proud silent death without a word of complaint…

he could still hear…./ “who will take Hajja-mama to the mosque Danladi…if you die today…/how will you go to school Danladi…if you die today…./who will carry Baba’s name Danladi…if you die today…/all life will change Danladi…nothing will be the same Danladi…if you die today….”

I release tears that join the rush of the Benue....let us meet the Niger at Lokoja…and pray at this eternal binding knot of earth and water…for the souls …of all the sons of this our Plateau. 

call to kill a king

Look at us…caught in our own nets.../powerless marionettes…slaves to the rot we bore that now…feeds the sores in our own souls…/how can we exclaim at the salacious words we spoke into our own existence…how can we…deceive our own children…/we beneficiaries of our father’s victories…we have turned from our inheritance…/gifted it to our pallbearers…who now carry righteous spirit of our ancestors as charred refrain of their death songs…. /we rail at the nonchalance of our leaders…/leaking gourd of our fountain head…/oozing suppuration of a false…rotten imagery…close to his death…./what is this we are crying for!!!...../natural order of things is handing us deliverance from…misguided selection…/corroded semblance of a structure once proud….now run aground.../let us realize the possibility within grasp of all who have the slightest will and reach.../and catch a new dream…/leave behind the wastrel heirs of these past years…/find a way to kill this imposter…/and crown a king that this generation can adore.