Beyond A Tawny Horizon Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Below eye brows
rolling low, brown
furniture runs
into shreds

of paper and crawling
threads chewed
and spat by an old
sewing machine.

Grasses of floss
and swaying reeds
of cobwebs
rise higher
than tilting stems
of cream light,

trading height
with a snaky bow,
no snakes in view.

And a meadow
levels off
with a shamrock mat
of weeds and low

crawling grass
rolling out
a bearded and goateed
floor stroking
wild gray beards.

(ii)

Old red ribbons
and shredded
patches of rags

fly off into
tanagers and finches,
as cleaners
dig and scoop,

scraping off every
grime and tart
gripping floor
with creeping crab
hands, as palms

flow through
a marbled floor
wearing
leprous scars

and galloping sandy
coats down
feathery corridors.

(iii)

How a sea stretch
of a wavy
storm-battered floor
raises flames

and embers
of firefinches
on a burning
umber and graphite floor.

Beyond a tawny
horizon of low crawling
furniture

and an emerald sea
stretch of debris,

no canoes to paddle
through in a new
house dusk
running into a midnight hue:

We'll still move
into this sea of storm
waves, no cleaner
mansion waiting for us.