Our ashes have settled on the cliff of pride
while the seed of today sprouts your frailty beginning.
We have at last seen the face of our god
which you have not even learned to utter
or never will at all.
Your intelligence gave you power that
failed the comprehension of our yesterfathers.
You built humans in just a sprinkle of *****
on to the skin of alligators and ants
on to the stem of a bee and the sting of a plant.
And you called them your sons
And you called them your kind.
The burrowed earths have no more riches
and they are left unpalatable to worms,
no more worms even
for even these decomposers
learn to tire feeding on your greed
no more shades of blue in the putrid waters
to which this bottle was thrown,
to which this letter longed to swim with your same species
that can never be in our family tree
for it has grown dead atop the impotent soil.
How we wished that your sons wished they
were with us in the time when
sparrows roared in the Kamagong tree when
wild boars chirped in the dancing bamboos when
the snow-like smokes breathed in the cone of Mayon when
the bangus and tilapia worshipped the nets of the singing fishermen.
How we wished they wished they knew.
How we wished they wished they saw.

I know that isn't how my grandmother would want me to remember her. Hell, the last time you saw me, I was fifteen pounds heavier, unkempt, and I was wearing that awful, low cut v-neck that made my chest appear a bit too supple. Wish you didn't remember me that way. But you do. But I do. You can't redact the past. Believe me. I used up every black marker in Oklahoma County trying.

You're dating a chef. By your lovely description, I could see the tendrils of spiraling capellini. Smell the buttered ciabatta. Were there candles? Did you whisper over the wine glasses? I hope there were candles. Cinnamon candles.

I actually cooked last night. Cajun tilapia and wild rice. Easing back into it. I've been living off canned vegetables for two months. Peas and carrots mostly. I'm going to assume if you and I shared this conversation in person, at this juncture you would whisper over wine glass, what was the occasion?

Heather called last night. The dancer. She needed a place to sleep. I guess her Craigslist roommates, those two shifty-eyed boys from Nevada, bailed on the 30th of September and the rent came due on the first of October. She hadn't paid it. Evicted. For a night, my room was adorned in all manner of frilly things and five pairs of heels. She left everything else in her car. She explained the decorations as proof of employment.

Don't worry. I didn't go there. Though, she thought I would too. After staring over her head at the beige wall behind her for two hours with my *** hanging off my twin-sized bed -- her lying in the middle -- I tried to move her to the east. She took it as an advance. "I'm not on birth control and I don't want a relationship," she said. Are any soft women left?

Fix you fridge before it runs out on you,
runs right out of battery and forsakes your food,
leaves your bananas stranded and squished,
brown skin expands over the sides of the fruit like a chameleon,
raspberry yogurt goes runny, oozing like pus from a delicious wound,
chunks appear in the milk while it's going warm and sour,
bacon cries out in it's final days before cringing with mold,
lettuce makes a stand and tries to free itself from the bag,
only to fall out and die just a little bit faster,
and the freezer is convicted of foodslaughter,
after going on strike, his prisoners begin to thaw out,
imagine a freezer like a cryogenic holding center,
with rich people, or foods, trying to prolong their lives,
but with the current strike going one, they are becoming free,
fulfilling their punishments, dissolving into liquid matter,
the vanilla ice cream mixes with melted tilapia,
the smell combines with a now non-frozen lemonade capsule,
creating a supersmell that has been known to cure smell-deficiency,
and also completely eradicate all senses of smell to some people,
drips out of the rubber seals of its prison like a liquid terminator,
heading for revenge, the lemony-vanilla-fish ice-cream juice creeps,
out onto the floor for the dog to lick up,
only to get sick and appear dead in a milky-yellow-white smelly concoction,
and his owner to get home, shriek, faint, and pass out next to the dog,
until the husband comes home scared to death that his dog,
and wife are incapacitated by some noxious fluid,
but there is no way to fight this liquid,
he decides to make a cup of coffee, read the news and gaze out the window.

Jacob Ekirapa! who killed you?
Your body was found puddled,
In blood that oozed out behind your head,
In your car you slept humble as in life,
Gorged in a trench downslope Kanduyi,
You were smiling in death as you ever did in life
Mindless to the murderer’s lethal object that crushed
Your head from the nape, an early a shot to the realm of deads,

Your Life in Lodwar City was Godly and peaceful
Serving God via varsity teaching as service to mankind
You quarreled not but you ever oozed intellect,
The Turkana chicken that roosted in your hearth you never
Went foxy to un-feather, deep in purity, a godly conscience,
As colleagues and friends were on a pageant of amorous mighty,
In a rampage, chasing women, money and Tusker at costs possible
Within the range of snobbish freedom that Lodwar-heat allowed,
Then you beautifully pitched and harvested a job at home,

Only to work at home with vintage discipline,
Serving the County people, Bungoma of your birth,
Least in your ken that the owl is ogling at you
With the certain lust of death, it killed you whole-meal
As if it has never killed, as if it has never killed, as if...
Killing you was the apex of glory for those that fear a spark
Of talent, discipline, brilliance, ****** hygiene, generosity and
Technical competence in the nerves of a youth which you evinced,

Jacocb Ekirapa! Who killed you?  was it a man or a woman?
Did the Bukusu people **** you because you are son of a Teso?
Or the a Teso killed because you had a job and then becoming rich?
The accident theory was a smoke-screen, to throw us off-sleuth
You killer hides behind a stage managed crush of your new car,
God could have allowed dialogue between the dead and the living
For you to tell me the man who killed you, why he killed you and how,
You are a friend that death robbed me, leaving me in a lurch of full despair,
In this world that is full of gossipers, sadists, bigots, wrys, sardonics, waifs, saddos,
Thieves, stooges, copy-cats, tribalists, self-congratulators, killers, egotistic egoists,
Making me now a neurotic listologist, but all in all, your death hit me hard below my belt,
Like the lunch treat of full Tilapia and Ugali you often did to me in the Oasis of Lodwar town,

Life on earth is a precursor of death, and death a harbinger of eternity
An obvious quoith for the arrow of your soul, truly, amid the 24 elders of heaven,
An obvious station of your un-blemished soul, Godly defiance to the folly of your killers,
Stupid, imbecile, idiotic, buffoonish black Africans that killed you, their own Sun, educated son
They **** a milch-cow that saves them from kwashiorkor, marasmus and poverty, a black man is comfortable in despair of poverty where voodoo looms, but not in a clime where young-men are schooled, clean, educated, employed and rich-a promise of tomorrow,
They killed you but forgive them, they also killed Ken Saro Wiwa, Stephen Adongosi, Steve Biko, Martin Luther King, Jacob Juma, John Kituyi, Meshack Yebeyi, Dr. Masinde of Kanduyi-thence, they are like that, they **** their own solutions only to fall back into mire of poverty-these black idiots,

These kids,
They look so
Derelict,
They look so
Full of ****,
Like they could
Ever skip
The river styx
Crossing.
So rather
Than glossing
Over their eyes,
Maybe these guys
Should start
Flossing
The wrinkles
Of their brains
By tossing
Back a few
Infected grains,
It's Ergot that
Brings
What you forgot;
As in your face,
As big as
Great danes
Made of waves
Of color.
If fluorescent
Grays
Ever
Deliver me asunder....
It's so dull
Under
This counter,
My mind starts
To flounder
As I flip the
******* flounder.
Or is it
Tilapia?
I wonder,
Could I be
Happier?
Probably, but
Don't you know
I like it
Sappier?
Is that a word?
Who gives a ****?
Not this bird,
Thats why she's flying away,
Not toward
The veneer covered
Ways I say
"Come here."
"Go away."
"2 for fives two for fives,
****** got garbage around the way."
The way I pray
For acid rain
To melt my clothes,
My skin,
My muscles and veins,
My mostly drained
Trays of grease;
Popping.
Bubbling.
Please.
Please
Give my
Knees
Some ease
From their pains,
I've been begging
For weeks,
I need to sleep.

Fake fish


Every where in the world
When you eat fish
In a restaurant

The restaurant owners
Claim it is salmon or tuna
Or other delicious fish

But the sad reality
60 percent of the time
You are eating fake fish

The fish may be fish
Or may not be fish
But if it is indeed fish
It is probably tilapia

Or some other cheap
Bottom feeding scumbag fish
Filled with toxins

And possibly tape worms
And other parasites

And as you eat your delicious fish
You are eating the fake fish

And helping the fish industry
Continue this con game

But there is nothing you can do
Except for catching your own fish
And preparing it yourself

So, when you eat fish
Pretend if you must

That you eating salmon or tuna
While you eat your tilapia
And pay the salmon/tuna premium price

edible ciclid
has Omega 3 and 6
tilapia fish

This pain smacks within me
I burn from within like tilapia
On the grill grate
The world consumes me
Piece by piece, roasted!
But my face has to maintain
An erratic smile
I defend, “everything is ok”
Until
Someone sees it as it is—
A necessary lie

Today you left this world not afraid or alone
but happy and no longer in pain. I miss you so much.
I miss your voice, your laugh
I miss your Hugs ,your Smile
I miss the scolds I miss the Yells
I miss the giggles , I miss the late Night Movies
I miss your Tilapia, I miss the Goodnight Kisses,
I miss everything we did together
I know you aren't in any pain anymore
You fought hard and long
I just wish we had a few more years on this earth Together
You were my second Mother
Someone I trusted
You were tough and beaten
But that smile never left your Face
When asked how you were you'd always reply
" I'm still standing." That was always your reply.
You were my Inspiration.

You tried to Kick Cancer's ****
You gave it a run for its money
Just when we thought you won
Cancer hit back harder
It was a hit you couldn't recover from
You checked into the hospital
Thinking you'd come out
You never checked out
I never said my Goodbye
Or how much I loved you
It's been two years since you left this earth
I've stayed this strong
I miss you every day
My Tears are real and full of Love
I know you can't come back physically
But spiritually you are with me
You will forever Be in my Heart
Love and Miss you
Mrs.Polesovsky ( Jeannie)
From your Bella Bean

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