hatasha hullah - dey
parablah nuh parrah
vey, okay, huttah, ulay
narralah, narrah, nutay

That interim between dreams and consciousness, that momentary lapse of reality
When slave children don't howl and the wild animals lay tamed in sun traps, weary

Your scattered thoughts betray reality
and you
question everything - now waking
Smiling chief, chirping loud
Your body gathered and prepared
under torchlight in dusty tents
Ingesting iboga and that old familiar numbness overpowers
You've been here for a life now, looking back on your life now
hatasha hullah - dey
vey, okay, huttah, ulay

Witch doctor, tribal medicine, fanning smoke from a wild fire
flashing imagery akin to memories of when life was decadent
you remember the taste of stray rain drops on your upper lip on muggy British summer days
and waking on a beach, bloodied as the sand at your feet is the next recollection, how powerful
the act of reflection, as you recall the mirrors of the sea and your torn body weakened and inept
The gathered village chant in unison and splinter groups fall off beat only to rejoin intermittently

Remember the Burmese boy far from home on the Gabon shoreline
and he informs you of your own death,
and asks you why do you breathe still?

hatasha hullah - dey
parablah nuh parrah
vey, okay, huttah, ulay
narralah, narrah, nutay
Oh laa, ley ley lahh ley lah
ley hatasha hullah - dey

On some beaten path lost in Angola you carried two packs, food for the world
but you fell starving and spluttered on the rock that looked like your home
Rebels run wild in jeeps black as night, your supplies strewn on rubble grounds
- hatasha hullah - dey
Taken in a flurry, twittering birds in far off trees betray your trust and fly away
in the opposite direction, and the juggernaut jeep catches air over uneven tracks
You were scared and crying under blindfolded eyes and captors jeered, captivated
- parablah nuh parrah
An orchestrated mass of military garbed children with rifles gather you abruptly
when the car stopped with a rumble
And tied to rusted rigs you're gagged and stripped, bloodied your face now
as they beat you and laugh
- vey, okay, huttah, ulay
Congolese giant man, sword in hand and grimacing through bared teeth
Making bold gestures and speaking some inscrutable language
You cannot answer and fear is now in control, you shiver in the ghastly draft
On failure to answer you must be beaten, your back is lashed, repeatedly
- narralah, narrah, nutay
You remain silent but cry in disparity, after shrieks of horror finally escape your barren lips
Through stinging eyes you assess the surroundings after hours of torture when they retire
to their leather beds of shame and innocence faltered, try and remember how to live
- Oh laa, ley ley lahh ley lah
Months must have passed, survive off insects and morning dew on the muddy floor
This African wasteland, time forgotten, child soldiers and lack of humanity is trivial
Always scheming, recollect the armament and through door-way shack trapped light
you see a clear path, and it is good
- ley hatasha hullah - dey
The pinnacle nightfall anticipated arrives, and your skinny wrists released now easily
(their faltering lack of knowledge and abundant braggadocio betray them)
AK laying in moonlight illumination, a sign of God perhaps, but experience proves otherwise
(How cruel the dreams you had of such a gift)
When they spot you leaving, the night lights up, wild crackle of gunfire, heart beats, tribal drums
(To massacre children, such proficiency, the dreams were mindful)
No lapse in concentration, you may ruminate on objective morality in due time
(Crawling through blood and bodies of children, so pure, cadavers tell lies)
The clearing ahead in giant trees, you run and don't look back, praying for no pursuit
(Another genocide committed by a white man, justified perhaps this once)
Weeks pass and you falter only to slurp rain water from Congolese sipping cups the leaves
(Blacking out somewhere in the Republic, or on a border or who cares, as you died long ago)
- vey, okay, huttah, ulay
  ley hatasha hullah - dey

To awake from hallucinogen dreams, and cruel memories linger, it's painful you agree
Witch doctor still sings, lonesome now as the tribe apply ointments and silently pray
The fire still dances to some incredible song and your scars redacted, physical and other
How incredible the mind feeling fuzzy and that insane dream is just that - a dream
You black out again, a common occurrence but upon waking you're free, no tribe exists
With a sheepskin rucksack full of cassava, plantains and sugarcane and cocoa beans
Months pass and you make it to the North, when you leave Africa your body is new
and your mind is stable, no lingering cognizance or frightful thoughts of a forgotten ordeal

You arrive in Turkey, to partake in ***** with nimble girls
and I see you floundering on silken sheets,
My memories were fresh as the nymph on your lap
I write to you a note, and you turn alabaster, moon faced being
I was there always and saw every moment
Your ideals on morality are hazy at best, and to your behest I detest all that you stand for
Is your afterlife so pure, now that bodies litter the forest floor
and do you believe that I am not (a) God
and is this mere poetry, or an indictment of your folly and a warning to all whom engage
but do you not also see that every reaction was an action taken to your original action
and when all is said and done, do you no realise that from the day you were born
you were born a God and that God was born dead
and this is just that interim between expiration and consciousness, that momentary lapse of reality
when slave children don't howl and the wild animals lay tamed in sun traps, weary

hatasha hullah - dey
parablah nuh parrah
vey, okay, huttah, ulay
narralah, narrah, nutay
hatasha hullah - dey
parablah nuh parrah
vey, okay, huttah, ulay
narralah, narrah, nutay
hatasha hullah - dey
parablah nuh parrah
vey, okay, huttah, ulay
narralah, narrah, nutay
Oh laa, ley ley lahh ley lah
ley hatasha hullah - dey

You can tell me
in remarkable detail
about how you ****** that guy
not once
  but twice
    in the handicap stall
      of the first floor bathroom.

I won't judge you
or think less of you
or even blink
as you tell me
how he finished all over your face
and you licked up
  every
    last
      drop.

No, I'll sit there quietly,
  listening intently,
    because, to be honest,
      it doesn't bother me.

But if you stare at me
with hungry eyes
or comment on how "****" I look
or even offer to please me
without any sort of reciprocation
because you just want to make me feel good,
I will tense up,
shut down,
  retreat into my metaphorical cave,
    and only reemerge
      when the coast is clear.

Yes, you can tell me
  all about your *** life,
    but I don't even want to think
      about mine.

On the first day I noticed nothing but your hair.
How it caught the sunlight and reflected it tenfold.
How it swayed around your neck.

On the second day I noticed nothing but your lips.
How they individually felt between my teeth.
How they left marks upon my neck and thighs.

On the third day I noticed nothing but your mouth.
How the words flowed out, powerful as an ocean.
How your teeth would bite me ear, drawing blood.

On the fourth day I noticed nothing but your hands.
How they held mine, always eager to calm them.
How they pulled the needle out of your arm, quivering.

On the fifth day I noticed nothing but your legs.
How they powerfully allowed you to stride great lengths.
How they were ever in motion, even in your deepest parts of sleep.

On the day sixth I noticed nothing but collarbones.
How I wanted nothing more but to crawl in to them and rest.
How I could gently **** on them, causing your whole body to palpitate.

On the seventh day and for years since I have noticed nothing but each individual hair on your body.
They each have a name, Kassandra, Jared, Peter, Ryan, Falyn, Jacob, Hammed, Caroline, Audrey, Yo-Landi, Diane, Khajjitt, Daralyn, forever and ever and ever.

On the last day I noticed how I never noticed your eyes.
But you were gone,
and I could not tell you what color they are.

Is it you--
are you the rain
that my children
dance in?
Are you the
harvester of long
grains and seeds
that the lone bird
feeds on?

To know you
is to know for an
eternity.
It is you,
the hand of death,
the whisperer of
rustling motions,
who knows of both
the grandest scope
and of who I am
in my smallest ways.

"If you truly love something, you must let it go."
I watch the dove fly from my open hands,
A flurry of wings, fear, and confusion.
It spirals above, and for a moment
It seems the world is too much
And it longs to be contained.
But it ceases its sad circle
Without glancing back.
It heralds its freedom
And wings away
To my dismay
As my tears
Begin to
Fall.

"The true test of Civilization is, not the census, nor the size of it's cities, nor the crops - no, but the kind of man the country turns out."
-Ralph Waldo Emerson