Ears Poem by alexander opicho

We; I and them
Swiftly knowing to do
The cockroach and
Stuck-here dance of the bush
With our ears and windows of sight
Tightly in tension about surfacing foe
From the colubrine quarters to hoick
Us off, to nothing like the earth beneath
Our feet, callow hind-limps the upper mast
Of our poor souls the solely sole of the land
We repair the broken eggs of chicks and staff;

Mending sick fortune into un-fated space of time, to
Pampering babble-rabble free the seed of freedom
In the womb of slavery thriving on hope and dreams
A soath on the red wound in the face of eggs-broken
The shells, the sweet center, the germ, the gist
And the fluid broken in the un-armed jacqueries,
A duty for us; me and them to give a mend

I fear to kibitz them that reign though feisty
Like a punctured paparazzi in a profuse sweat
Ever busy in the lazy duties of desire and mime,
When the broken eggs have shells for acupuncture
From ovary to ovule to zygote to embryo to agony,
No one to chant them magical words of repair from
Shards, shreds, smithereens, shambles and grains of nadir
To the zenith of a weekly weakling phoenix in land of clay,
For us; I and them to give reparation mend to sick egg-shells

We make God barren, angels devils and heaven hell of power
With tyranny of nothing but as the McGuffins in the realm of times
As we move, migrate, mate, micturate and il-lavation there-on,
Painting geographies our eugenics, shrinking property-maniac's atlas
Into fear without flight and tragedy, they stand yodeling at our throng
But the conches as comrades to our pumpkin uprooting chants
Out-swivel the hands that fold to hide morsels of bread
From the hungering mouths, loins and dry anus
Shying the duty to mend the broken eggs,