Monday, May 15, 2017

cranes over accra

tickling steel skeleton biceps tease over shoulder blades of glass pinnacles with tips cutting through air like piny pineapples piled on headpans head-anchored on folded rag deadpan drowsy discoid clouds get fingered by air china plane farting out malformed moans,
"korle is no where near the airport"
"they say we all drink the same water"
the beaming droops down bare barely hairy brown chests as the background music stirs chalewote-less feet
of these Bukom beach kids eyeing 30 feet high stretched out polythene-raped broomstick kite caught on new high rise coveting their lotto booth bedrooms into its shadow
thoroughfare-trained stray dog catcalled rambo in neighbourhood spills out of alley randomly ridiculously rowdy, gets tossed off by buzanga biker madly caresses her fangs with tongue bloody | crawls into a giant blow 30 feet away
unlearning death hair sleeps like nungua compound house coconut leaves in sinister dry season smirk mouths go (oh) lips crack but chop off many an (ei) trotro tuckles into arm's reach of red yellow green lotto booth
as if kowtowing to traffic light bereft of life,
throws out shy guy who blows air into heavy suit mops off sweat and barely moves sidewalk-strung guy's side pocket cries odds he picks call as the first ring hatches, voice punches fused languages on loud speaker girlfriend gossips of gold teeth in germany
and how her popping pussy meditates on ambitions to block out the century gymnasium accessory made of twin nido tin cans separated by rusty iron bar stolen from shaft of tired car lies at his feet eyes weight-lift the shito-strong sunray licks meanwhile, skyscrapers bathed in blonde put out banners that read "too much to afford me"
yellow caterpillars long to mouth kiosks bundled in front of same point where trotro, now makeshift-ambulance collects dead rambo's corpse red and yellow face-painted hearts of oak fc supporter tarpaulins nose
is attracted to swaying coconut seller's shiny cutlass making a scoop from fiberous ovum wall tetteh quarshie tells us visual cocoa dream stories buried in traffic jams leading to jamestown
a mother from nowhere strips in the streets and cries of being milked by a shrink
while referred to drink water to heal doors shut on the ghana capital's skies and door knob is moon less lit tonight

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