Goddo Faggotte

The Nama welcomed me with a handclap
(Ai Nam se Kind)
to their Desert of Diamonds.
...

My head is full of cicadas
Chock-a-block with Sonbeesies
Sonbeesies are Beetles of the Sun
My head is full of Sun
...

Little Lamb,
Who buried you
Amidst this granite monolith castle
Misted by the cold Atlantic?
...

The favelados dripped
like greasy chorizo
In the City of Drizzle
The moradores da favela
...

Appointments confirmed
schedules re-arranged
but, no-one came
still, all the same
...

There is a time to draw the line
under an idea, whose will to live
calls out for expression.
...

Hopelessness is an adventurer,
desperately lost in the Sahel,
hobbled by thirst,
hamstrung by disorientation,
...

Walking by a slow gutter,
a smooth-skinned stone,
oval in its oliveness,
called up to me,
...

I will be my own family:
Brother Ears,
Sister Nose,
Father Eyes,
...

There are no tigers in the zoo.
Bored children demand “real vicious beasts, ”
having tired of genocide, live beheadings
and the beating up of migrants.
...

Of aerodynamics,
thermal currents,
or propulsion and gravity,
what does a bird know?
...

That shed was our Notre Dame,
and in this cathedral we celebrated our childhood,
hammering straight the bent nails of life,
humming There is a Green Hill far Away.
...

The Great Sea of our Earth,
swelling white and sighing blue,
with me, worshipful on the bleached bare dune
under the Greatest Sun of our Heaven,
...

We are dying together even as we live apart.

The hitching red-tide, rides the hunching wave,
like Death hidden in each life.
...

Mountains,
(unlike rivers) ,
are serenely quiet and thoughtful places.
...

The Baths are smoothly curved, as cool as cream,
like deeply dimpled virgins of vestal antiquity.
Outside lies the ceramic city, coldly glazed and sharply tiled,
menaced in the emptiness by gladiator-gangsters,
...

A jumble up fresco,
all beasts, bosoms and cloven hooves
together in a cloudless sky,
twisting in ecstasy.
...

Authenticity is the hooked bill of the vulture,
the hunched over, crooked pose,
wings stiffened to lunge at the fetid carrion.
...

Its name was Id.
Id needed wiggle room
to wriggle
to writhe
...

Díscontent is the man in a plaster caste,
bench-watching runners passing in the park.
Complaining to all, of his misfortune,
as the tanned athletes exercise and stride out,
...