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René Mutumé
Poems
Jun 2013
the Gas that moved our home
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.
Written by
René Mutumé
London
(London)
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Reina J Morris
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