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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.
René Mutumé
Written by
René Mutumé  London
(London)   
483
   Reina J Morris
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