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Jan 2014
A very important email, from Fidel Nkrumah
Best regards!
It began with.
I am banker from Ghana.
I need your help
transfer US$7,500,000.00
to you. And
it is that
easy

The intricacy
of the hand
searching
your ****
for beauty

I replied:

Thanks for your earnest
email
illuminating me
of your plight

Mr Nkrumah,

mind if i call you

“Nicky”?

My bank details
are as follows:

Sort code: 76 32 89

Account number: 93761011

Best regards,

N.

Can you make the payment
out in traditional English
shillings
please…

i have a barrow…

have you read:

“I Have No Mouth and I must Scream”?

By Harlan
Ellison?

man that’s a crazy
kick-***
story
one of the best

perhaps
we can
discuss it
and whilst we do
we can fly birds

not aiming them
at the sky

see Nicky,
we were all there
when you were
christened
with glowing
tear
eyes
because there was water being dripped
on a small
skull

it was so moving
it was so
perfect
we went back
and bent down to work
the next
day, nothing
changed, nothing
drew
a tetrahedron
on that head

but there was an organic
chemistry
you see
“N!”
there was not a cross hatch of birth
inside or out
that the organs could not
consume
they could always
see them
there were always
the droplets flying
down

like those birds
we’re gonna
fly

we’ll make it
nicky
don’t worry
but in return
for my bank details
i would like to suggest- that
the rain is only god
spilling his beer
over
you see
like back when we
were being christened
and went out
without shaving
much, and one day
the system was
broken
and the next
it was fine, like a paper
whale
rolling back to the shore
of the desert
he didn’t care much
for christenings,
he kinda thought
hell!
that **** ocean is near!
you think i need some
fat fingers
dribbling
and
playing about
in my head— it can’t

capsize-the-sand

leverage worn out like sandless off colour
murial
but ******* the grains, alloping
and mad
salt sweat
calling out
to it insanely
as the world continues to rest
there’s another inch driven
away by its gut
there’s a permanent bed
of shadow
small
mamal wings
turning over, one after
the other
that no-one else
has to worry
about

the castrations have become
electronic, instead of simple knives
and the gravity of that thing rolling over to the east
back to where its shore lined haven awaits, readily comes
to it
a ready made
meal
dense
and watery
like it knows that you’re pretty much
knackered
but sends shattering dreams across
your back, sends its universe
to you, just another
dive
in the sea
momma
i have no
idea
what time
it is
but luckily
neither
has anyone.
René Mutumé
Written by
René Mutumé  London
(London)   
1.3k
   Marsha Singh
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