Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
René Mutumé Jun 2013
left
hard faced
sweeping
open eyed in madness looking up at the sun
and the wind the same way
politely nodding to friends
rage in the wood
like something has been taken
a berserker smashing mirrors
and himself
looking at his own movements
(un)believing
that he has aged

not much left today
just words and a smile
that same glare
that same joke in quietness
still that strange mix
just a few words today:

“i did it all son. for a long time. and my kids are all ****** up now.
don’t do it this way.”
he tells me.
René Mutumé Jun 2013
By the tree
a copper smacks a drunkards legs away
from behind him
as he walks home
oooze me adrenalin
pick hornet faults
and you have honey combs
choose an action
that leaves you alive
the media forgets
like a humming bird forgets
with wings that cut its own paper
in the back of your knee
surrounding human crime
where without streets
we still smell it.
René Mutumé Jun 2013
A fire begins somewhere at 4
completing the home
God Queen! – - alright!

The walls and floor boards move
here. and new flesh joins and unwinds

animals grow like colour, hooking the
dinning tables
and making them bleed

like bright silhouettes
and the fashionable mountains and chairs
that we couldn’t afford
bow down, and change within the heat

your hair fits my suit exactly, everything matches the flame
eventually

without any effort, I never thought we could
afford. all this stuff. our portraits drool

as we do, the floor is as warm as the air, we crawl forward
to the carpets and door
that permit our hand
marks, in the clay, and sync like dancing dolls
in the softness of ash
climbing up
the substance of string

closer to the heart-hand that moves them
with ease
we rise again
and walk
like marionettes under fog
we aren’t gone yet, we have good
mind, taste
and the dog bowl
releases its plastic sides to the floor
easier
than pouring ghosts in the rain

our room now matches
perfectly
to the colour books we saw

flicking through chimera
and seeing
one

that looks back.
René Mutumé Jun 2013
A man’s hand releases bread crumbs
that soar into a flock of birds distant in the moor
a clock wise stir moves in the cup, then taps on the side
ready to be consumed, sweeter than Hemlock
poured from a tap
drank in the last room of an old house
the night moves like a bow
waiting across a set of strings
the cars move like chunks of drift wood
in a black current
someone’s blowing on a harmonica
out of tune
down the street
and somewhere else

as I arrive home
and find my cats waiting eyes
they’re friendly
but know it’s time to feed
they begin
making a single purr
between them, that’s entwined with the sound
of their banquet between bites
cleaning
every
last
morsel.
René Mutumé Jun 2013
Your arms move inside
as your hands enter the kiln
heating the days work.
René Mutumé Jun 2013
An oak bows hard
to place a kiss in the forest base
like moss crawling on a crucifix
in ten steps and ten pills
you will be a butterfly
again

and probe the floor boards
of a new home
i.
*promise.
René Mutumé Jun 2013
Plumes of gas
like heavy hands of air
entering our lungs

we depart!
  
from our hair-home

we danced on the nose of a cat
and lost some of our numbers
as we crawled over George

I’d like to think
that the youngans leapt away
as we did

as the spray came

but I know nothing, as we spring from his fur
during mating
sending us from slow images
in the black box
where Georgey mews in protest

the gas
doesn’t touch us as we leap
onto the arm of the sprayer

twitching twice more in doubled loop
and into her hair

there is a forest of knitted pines, dyed pink
strands of hair descend up
into the platted roof of her head – - we give
out, and finish the beginning

of our new family
in the white bed
of her scalp

as our old neighbours flee
with less success

I move off Stiums back
and we look around the mesh
of dyed dunes

the furred shrubs
are connected to mandibles and fresh eyes
different to our own, staring at us

i know nothing of the female that sprung us
from our home
as a finger shelled by chewed nail
comes to scratch us away

scattering us
once more
within our new home
irritated by our feast, I bite down
within the soft floor

and taste peace, once more, comparing human blood,
to what was before.
Next page