by three invocations. i have crawled beneath africa on
my skin. & black. i know how i smell.
putrefaction— a reek of filth.
a spectacle of shame.
because i curse euphemism. my mother wears
her faults unconcealed:
her cologne of bad stars—
bastards. over the beauty of her breasts. why
she pricks daily
at God's tongue for the will of the sea.
a trumpet blows africa
a turpid sol-fa. & mad men are wearing his facade of
perfumery.
does he smell differently?
say. i reek of filth. do i lose the pride of my skin?
or what glory then is cleansing? i wear these faults.
i know how i smell.
say. i reek of filth. & i will be quick like tide. & tell
you smell
like me.
if tonight you go to your privy. & stool your
filthiness. i hope you will remember we are
all skin.
with shitholes.
What an excellent poem. That last image is stunning.
Thanks so much for appreciating my poems. I'm glad you enjoyed it
Beautiful, beautiful
Well done, Chidera.