the last time he went out of
his mind he liked it
so much there
that he never came back

not even after the
alcohol left
his blood

he keeps writing to this day

addresses women with 'sweangel'
a combination of sweet
and angel, I guess

but never spends more
than a matter of weeks
with any of them

some take pity on him
and some morbid curiosity

but no one loves him
truly
only his insanity

The dust of our creation is from Africa;
The place of our creation is Africa;
The blood beneath our skin has a rhythm.
The bond between our bones and Africa is forever.
Some people shout for queens and country,
While others shout for land and blood.
But we will trample the earth and raise its dust
As we march for the glory of Africa.
Africa produces the dust of our creation.
The dust, that makes the baobab tree lives forever
Africa produces the dust of our creation.
The dust, that produces the finest diamonds and gold.
The dust of our creation is from Africa,
That continent that is like the Garden of God: Eden

After a drizzle
the concave leaf turns pitcher,
for tiny killdeer

Don't give me rainbows or roses
I prefer bread as poverty proposes