if it’s not the new colony of fruitfly
started and killed itself in the length of a sigh,
(do we say they ate themselves to death?
Is it conan, is it the lace in the big toe of God?)
If not them the kadhalikas,
the stilts in jeans standing at the corner
blazing and it should have been winona.
To those who dance to amari temba and chege,
aeroplanes will come to save you.
You say you hear bombers,
You say it is breaking glass.
But the council worker in green
Sweeping the portrait of herself off a curb,
She will wait there until it is
Take me to the dance
I want to see the dance.
All is well is well
Black faces in the well
Curses coming off the edges of our bodies
When we make love to objects
We were wrong to replace the god of wine
With the god of decadence.
And all those places
That are not places,
The small Bangladesh, the Kosovo.
Who knows if you are still living there,
Dancing with forgetfulness, my Nyunyu?
At least one of us is brave enough
And what is more awkward,
Than the long dancing legs
A luo girl left behind
In a breaking bed?
Take all the berries in the mountains,
Make your lover some caffeine,
And kiss the lace yes yes yes.
I went dancing with my friend
Because my other Nigerian friend
Was busy getting arrested
For a blowjob in a carpark.
The world is a sphere.
Who got arrested?
Was his name Galileo?
He said: “Take me to Mtwappa,
And show the dada.”
Whiskey is good, yes,
For paranoia and nightmare
And the godless.
It is not a nightmare
But it has the same kind of threded
A man singing as his older self
Backing vocals of a youger self.