My wife left me
With three little kids
Two are toddlers
And one breastfeeds

They sit on the settee
Gazing wonderingly at me
I wonder what they are thinking
What kind of man do they see?

I am a good man
I loved my wife dearly
I tried, I did all I could
Anyone would see that clearly

But I can't stay at home
I must go out to work
And after I'm done
I might take a lady to rock

Because I loved my wife
I lie for her sake
I meet my manly needs
It's a little liberty to take

The society should understand
No one must blame me
That's why I am a man
I must be what I'm made to be

But my wife left me
With three little kids
And since I'm such a man
How do I provide their needs?

I want my love back.

I want my ghosts to possess my lungs - resuscitate my ancestors while I breath in laughter.

For the ball inside my throat to hurl fire - to make love to the sun
scare shadows
intimidate death and
offend darkworkers.

A love where God’s water breastfeeds me at the bottom of the ocean - baptising my blood and transforming my saliva into gold.

Love me. Want me. Find me.

Give, it, back.

I want my love back

A love where God’s water breastfeeds me at the bottom of the ocean - baptising my blood.

Transforming my saliva into gold.

WRITING UPON THE SKY WITH INVISIBLE INK

mum dances her baby
les Moulin Rouge girls
arrive in their civvies

later that night
transformed by feathers & sequins
into a tourist fancy

mum breastfeeds her baby
the neon's screams
blurred in the rain

**** screams in neon
the red windmill
grinds out a perfect blue sky

*** clubs at the bottom
at the very top
Sacre Coeur reaches for heaven

the tree's fingertips
writing upon a sky
with invisible ink

nampula
wakes at first light

she bundles brightly
and brooms the streets

breathing the blue sky
she walks her brother to school

half naked
she sits in the dirt screaming

she cements shards of glass
to the tops of walls

when rain turns the roads into rivers
she builds bridges out of boards

she carries charcoal
on the back of her bicycle

from the side of the road
she sells puppies from a basket

she balances her belongings
on her head

resting in the shade of a tree
she breastfeeds her newborn

at the checkpoint armed with an assault rifle
she asks for our passports

playing with her friends
she rolls old tires down dirt roads

she moves
through the brutal beauty of chaos

nampula
sleeps at last light