Mystery woman

I am the mystery woman
I am the hard to please mystery woman
I am the crying hard to please mystery woman
I am the touch me now crying hard to please mystery woman
I am the brain tumor hiding touch me now crying hard to please mystery woman
I am the growing brain tumor hiding touch me now crying hard to please mystery woman
I am the silent growing brain tumor hiding touch me now crying hard to please mystery woman

I am the forgotten silent growing brain tumor hiding touch me now crying hard to please mystery woman
I am the hairless forgotten silent growing brain tumor touch me now crying hard to please mystery woman
I am the dead illness, waking madness, pleasure seeking, laughing loudly, sassy mystery woman

I am mystery, I am woman, I am now , I am touch, I am me, I am growing, I am hard to please and drunk
I am drunk thirsty, I am love hungry, I am a lair, lying with you, lying alone, you lying, we lie for fluids that flow, I am a fluid lover, I am a walking fluid lover, I am a let it rain fluid lover. I am a mockery of a happy seizure

I am a semibreve, I am a minim , I am a dotted semibreve , I am music. I am broken strings of a new guitar. I am mystery.

I am clueless. I am tired. I am tired clueless sexy empty. I am full, I am a fool.I am restless, I am more, I am mystery woman. I am all I am. I am sick. I am hurt. I am bleeding. I am singing mystery. I am hurried. I am love. I am hated. I am mystery. I am a man I am a woman. I am you.

I have needs I can’t tell anyone about

Anytime I cry, you slap me. Anytime I cried you slapped me. Now that you are not here, I am slapping myself and laughing. Crying and dancing. waking to dream. eating my nails. washing my ears of the lies you spoke. “I do, I do…”
I do not know why I let you slap me till I could feel no pain. no love for you or for me. And now slaps is my music. The music that drives me away. Stop.
I stopped. I stopped loving lies. I stopped believing in tomorrow. I just stopped and held today by hair. She disappeared. She was not today. She was what I let today hide behind. She was invisible sharp broken glass scattered everywhere. She will cut you. She doesn’t mean to, she just cuts.
Cuts that won’t heal. I don’t mean her, the fake today. Cuts I didn’t allow winds to kiss. So many cuts crying thick dark red.
Wailing cuts are hard to get. Now I stop to listen. Kiss them air, they want kisses. Touch them sun they want warmth. As for me, I want today, the real today.

Wetness

my feeling. aided. by wetness. the sound. my nerves. calms. i drink. much. just so. to hear. the sound. of pee. mine. in the middle. of the night. i drink. some more. because. i like. that. sound. also. in the morning. i am all. for wetness. the sound. so i sit. by. the ocean. a fountain. my pee. the neighbors bathroom. blind. bliss. wetness. speaks. say it. when. wet. you. say it. with. my tears. running. i like. the feel. of wetness. down. my cheek. i taste. wetness. my throat. grateful. complete. wetness. hand. me. a glass. of. peace.

Bi-cycle

I wrote this piece about four years ago. It got me into some trouble when I first performed it. The vibe for the Ghanaian crowd just pushed me to stash it somewhere far from daylight. I really didn’t fancy random people feeling they had earned the right to save me for eternal damnation for the simple reason that I wrote Bi-cycle. It’s just outrageous to find so many people convinced that anything a writer writes is about the writer. If you are one such person, I sincerely think you are just being featherbrained.

I never really worked on the piece more, I think I should now, I mean, it’s one of my babies, how dare I abandon it? If Bi-cycle will take me to hell, what the hell, let it! :D



Bi-cycle

I paddle it like a being
soul for passion
sprit for cosmos
flesh for goodness -
sake
I don’t have to explain

this bi-cycle,
happy gay thing
ain’t some game

I need no deliverance
as my bi-focal can’t trace rapture
I'm so strong my bi-ceps won't rupture

My Sistah straight
and bi-the-way bi-lingual
speaks
hypocrisy and fopidity at one fell swoop
“d” screaming nation should stop….!!!
but homo sapiens can’t be homo!!!”

folks say homophobia is bi-blical,
society got to be homogeneous,
so, let us all be
homicidal

there is more to this cruise
than homographic words
and homonyms like
sex and sex

walk by
queer garden

forbidden uncreated

the fan

it blows
your smell
out my window
would a man
or woman
like wet clothes on a line
be touched
by the sun, the wind
for another wet day
into a dance
let this wind blow us
and now I am wet
from my cheek to my chest
for what is not fun
out my window no woman
or man
my door open, never locked, never looked in
I touch for fun
while the walls speak blue and ash
sleep will come in the morning with the sun
sleep will die with memory
it comes up to my throat and slides back down
as I sit under the fan

National running day

walking the streets of Bamako
looking for shawls to buy

light of day too long
I stayed in masked from the sun
more generous then Accra’s can be
hot hot air kisses even at night

walking the streets of Bamako
looking for shawls to buy

I took two shawls with me
to show just what I want
“where do I get this to buy,
where can I get a shawl? ”
they smile and hold my shawl
“no speak english” they say

walking the streets of Bamako
looking for shawls to buy

is it national running day?
“bonsoir, bonsoir”
some turn to say
as feet run by and more
women and men and kids
jogging way past eight

walking the streets of Bamako
looking for shawls to buy

bamako runs at night
maybe I too should run

running the streets of bamako
looking to identify

I run more than I should
now tired without any french
and when I stop to pant
I am found by an open store
“do you have shawls here?”
I grabbed a can of malt
“no speak English”
but how come you have lingerie?

running the street of Bamako
missing my red old car

he says something in french
and packs his bike by me
“do you speak english sir?”
he wears the Mali smile
he says something in French
and mumbles the usual thing
“no speak english”
I rub my forehead and stare

walking the streets of Bamako
looking for shawls to buy

we both are stroke with laughter
me out of mere frustration
If only I couldn’t ask
why he too laughed so hard

walking the streets of Bamako
looking for shawls to buy

maybe he speaks Twi or Ga or Ewe or Hausa
should I just say, “Charley!…
I need a ride to my hotel”

walking the street of Bamako
looking for shawls to buy

I get on his bike
“slow sir, not fast, not fast !”
he doesn’t know where to head
“Azalai Nord-Sud” I try.
but my finger speak clearer
somewhere in the air it points
“Azalai Nord-Sud”

Riding on the street of Bamako
saying “yesu kristo!”

“take this turn sir”
I hit and hold his shoulder
he nods and turns to me
“Azalai Nord-Sud”
the lights encircling the sign
looks prettier than usual
“Azalai Nord-Sud”
he take his time to say
like a tired hopeful teacher
who wants me to made the grade
“Azalai Nord-Sud”

“Oui Oui”,
I jumped off his bike
just like I would at home
“thanks for bringing me sir”
“merci, merci merci”

I wave my purse at him
“how much please sir?”
“d’accord d’accord”
he takes my hand for his
“why sir, how much please?”
he rubs my hand and smiles
“d’accord d’accord”
he leaves

A thing we will forget

fathers who wash
sperms
from their pants
and wipe one
that made child
from their memory