Monday, August 08, 2016

uncertain certainties I

once more
buries itself under my baggy eyelids
as fatigue fornicates with its soft dying glow like a fine speck of firefly with frowned fibres losing floss

finally knocking on the door of its own tomb
the thumps of hunger pangs regurgitate 

like slums dealt with the cascade of floods 

or pungency of polythene choked fumes
i'm asking myself questions 

which become answers in disguise because 

i've danced between god and the devil so long 

i need to let it sink in that these floors are paved from rhetorics

i'm more than me
especially when i write myself free
so i wrote a will to the stars 

to cremate my ash and precipitate away these scars

you could easily see that's all i've known
i'm ungloved palms with red charcoal and an ear of corn
i babysit pain and watch it transform
in due time

vintage : bonds

ascending from the future
   rooted memory from past
      like stealthy seedling of sun
         performing social sutures 

Monday, August 01, 2016

backstreet lecture

i couldn't discharge my eyes off him with ease
young boy breathing his pain 
into the world of his unfurling palms 
craving for coins on this corner 
ajar for the moving or well dead
soft yarn soaked in suicidal throes of addiction
bedrock blasting
a continent of pumped voices unshut with toxins
his smile met the flat mountaintops
his belly the desiring valleys
transplant from the alleys groped with marijuana dust
and a candid feel as if joseph stiglitz echoed his idea about saving the world here
he read me the arcane trade laws negotiating paroxysm
from a mind with stains of scant community 
power over issues with issues over power
and a special kind of madness
he said the times broke out of arid silence with the license to clog the conscience
i'm the nobel prize holder for bootlegged comfort 
legging it in other people's boots 
i'm cocaine capitalism
christian parenti's documents typed out on doormats of chaos 
a typewriter in subtle exile
or keypad in heat stress
and the orgasm of small farms with finger fishes fried forgotten things for dishes
i'm the reason mcdonalds will sue you next for using a mc
adam's apple never fell far from the tree where eves saw i
and this little profound ghost of a boy
before i retire would probably end up under the tires 
of secret society masked vigilantes
or worn over the attires in west africa and labeled vlisco
traded platinum like cisqo from dutch kinfolk
overtimed in indonesia like juveniles with bronx endo 
while labeled 'tribal' or something close to 'traditional'
tomorrow i'll still find him hangover with ancient music tucked away
vomiting a dream 
and sleeping in it

(c) kwame write aidoo [written and read on the night of saturday july 30th, 2016 at 32 rue de la mare at an event hosted by will cox]

understood into two

i sparked a campfire in my head
to keep warm the pieces of the lust
after you burned yourself
into my mind music became revolution became culture became rhythm became music i've masturbated songs into silhouettes of mornings
caught in nets of clouds webbed out of veins
and waiting trees
philosophers have bathed speculations into pools of illusions charlatans have twisted them into deceit
generations have split from these splinters
when i found you
you found me
i'm the boreal bald mushroom waiting to be the orchid
the tide thumping against slippery shore longed for by poor kids a keen traffic light dancing in dream of becoming the ride
so the red wont stop and yellow becomes pulsating sleepless moon
and green installs itself as a flag for us loons
you're the gunpowder after the war showers sunflower kissed briskly at sidewalk
by rickety bus hyped for that fuel
there's a thin line between love and obsession
and i've known to grow it so well i could use it as a necklace we shall now
for the sake of the double-minded
stir into the sun our own entendre

(c) kwame write aidoo [written and read on the night of saturday july 30th, 2016 at 32 rue de la mare at an event hosted by will cox]