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he stood at the bay window,
& waved
his thick black & yellow book in hand,
he had just finished coding:
a poem in this you reckon?

he beckoned you to write anew – it’s easy,

the self confessed professor said

then perniciously smiled:
(ffsake span style=color: #ffff00;”>strong> a poem in this…

there are a thousand ways
to learn, choose one.

what are you slouching for?
go view them…!

in fact

want to learn anything,
almost anything? then

go & watch a YouTube – how to – video.  long live the internet.

Google 2

(dollar dollar dollar $$$$ span+addiction style=”color: #000080; g/span style=”color: ff0000;”> …/lose those tags or else #$$$   this is not a poem.)

now – comrade,
i promise you tomorrow,
on this new bonded
leather desk chair,

i shall calmly sit
at this age old pine
with all its bruises

& watch the sun creep in
shedding light on my
lack of understanding,
and if i am here
to witness this

(nothing is guaranteed)

my eyes dimmed will thank the nameless,
yes i know you have a thousand names.

i shall calmly sit upon the horizon,
(reflect upon what you said)
& watch that 15 minute video for

dummies.

just for you.
just for you.

ps. don’t forget
to send the link –

cut >

Wedding Album

You kept them
in a custom made linen box
secretly tucked away
in the post marital home.

Nobody burns them!

Are you sure?

A hot summer night about 9 &
bright stars bore witness
to the dogged purpose
in your eyes.

No persuading otherwise
we stood together
in the yard
as you eased off the lid & lift

the flawless patterned book
flicking through it
one last time.

Your groom / groomsmen, beaming.
Your mother, father; in-laws, beaming.
Brother, sister, cousins, beaming.
Bridesmaids / flower girls, beaming.

Who wouldn’t beam on your special day?

Nervy walk down the aisle, captured:
The ring on your finger. The first kiss –
How has it come to this?

Wedding album ferociously ripped
by hands that not long ago
sifted through his hair,

now picking up that blowtorch,
switched on,
you incinerate
a thousand memories.

some things cannot be captured

Skendong

i’ve
been listening
to a lot of podcasts

fusing philosophy
with god like
power

raising matter
but my sense
stoops low

for if time
like nature
must die

can i stay
higher
on living?

as i paused
and snapped
this poster

posted on
social media –
it’s like
1984

a little boy
running ’round
in the past –

now
moving into space
& so forth.

& if time
has no space,
has no end,

then let us continue…

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dark lady

few years ago
black was lesser
it did not bear
beauty’s name

times change
culture redeemed
economically viable
a bastard shame

it doesn’t matter
if black or white
as long as that bitch cat
catches mice

both hands draining
nature’s power
barack to jay z, yeezy
in trump tower?

my friend’s eyes
were raven black
a heart of gold
but lack of cash

died in poverty
this is for you
embodiment of beauty
everlasting

rest in peace fatou

females pray

the ritual
of human coupling
reduced
to a fingered swipe.

but out in the wild
it’s as wild as ever.
it’s no hype
she’s a man-eater.

on Friday 13th
of September
her perfumed pheromone
carried
by a balmy breeze,
reeled him in.

he spotted her –
twice his size
he didn’t care,
for winter nights
were imminent
& he wanted sex.

she beckoned him.
he approached
& upon reaching,
filled her up
with rapid thrusting
but WTF!

mighty pincers
shattered his skull;
decapitated –
eaten alive
mid-shag?

she knows
his nerve endings
will spasm the abdomen
until
he pumps his last.
he’s deader
than dead now.

whether or not
she falls pregnant
his lifeless body
gobbled up
for nourishment.
she needs it.
job done.

the least –
he didn’t die
cold
&

alone.