you know when,
you have no colonial history,
and you encounter natives
with a post-colonial
derganged
syndrome, and you're like:
well... that's sure as ****,
not autism or anything...
but then the joke dies
when you encounter
some autistic "peoples"
of the fwee vorld...
and then you bring
the bomb-shell:
but i'm bi-lingual, "schizoid"
and then the conversation
just drops...
    point being:
i need to get this into
the meat grinder...
       vanilla sky?
a spectacle...
than only occurs in the morning,
esp. in europe,
come march...
  and then you forget...
  there was me,
the ivory beauty...
a span of 30 years
together...
the beach...
     mombasa...
          god...
if you looked at her...
you could lick silver
off her skin
when she stood
naked on a beach,
in moonlight...
  and i would pray
and worship and
do all wacky shamanic
******* before her...
and still...
she would eye me like:
i was the tourist
asking for another drink...
and she was nothing more
than a waitress...
it's only a love-affair
that lasts...
for a worth of a
blink-of-an-eye...
       and it doesn't
have the ontology
of being allowed a knowledge
of death...
until you, yourself, die...
there have currently been
two escape points
in my life that i would
ascribe to beauty...
the sister...
of a girl i was dating,
when i was in my teens...
copper sheen...
  and...
when i visited kenya...
and what...
i can best ascribe to...
being...
    panther...
          she looked at me:
judgemental when i heard
she was smoking ****:
i thought to myself:
we didn't you invite me?
it was like black
was ivory,
it was like black was silver...
it was:
the moon, and her skin...
a taboo love-affair
akin to a "lost harem"
affair with an idi amin
"*****"...

       just a glance...
  never, had, a, women,
looked, most, appealing,
as she did,
where, she did...
namely:
  a ivory beauty...
on the ivory continent...

seriosuly...
i have no colonial
inheritence...
slice me up...
and send me off
to that woman in
Kenya...
     that skin...
enough...
to figure out...
       deploring
amber...
   or caremel...
   it's not chocolate...
and it's not charcoal...
it's...
    aminate colour...
it's taboo...

all it was,
was a blink...
of an eye...
  i was sitting happy
on the balcony
admiring the macaque
monkeys...
but here,
she had to do a replica
casablanca
movie scene...
and she was smoking ****...
and back in england
i was diagnosed
as schizoid for
doing the same...

   you know the problem?
when you have a chance
to distinguish between
african women?
  dark kenyan women?
mmm...
   yeah... that part...
west african women?
  nigerian...
  ye'ah....
               that "part"...

but this one kenyan beautie...
i... i...
i just forgot there was
a riddle!
  there is?
  you can't even begin
to express...
what isn't allowed
in mainstream films...
it's... ivory...
it's...
    sheen...
         it's: butter...
it's...
                gulp and liquor...

ah...
   right...
      now you feast on
my maggot-riddled skin.