West India
what can i say
of my people
ebony on ivory
walls of clime
hang green
upon the
lizards of
the sun and
shines the
cinnamon
zephyr from
the coral
knives of seas.
cantonese
from the punjab
yoruba
of the thames
benin bronze
gleaming in
a matador’s
prized ear
to the champs elysee
of caribs
and arawaks
christopher
you betrayed
my ancestors
and the foetuses
of their
civilization.
weep weep
into the
mediterranean
sighing limp
over the niger
where the blue
nile sees no
apparitions
and hears
not the white
path winding
on the white
path winding
on the razors
blunt edge
of a moving history
forbids me
to hate
your castin tetted
pleas for forgiveness.
fleur de lis
drenced in
blood
plantations
of suspended
souls flv
and leap
into
armadas
teutonic
lions roar
devouring
the droppings
of the niger
and the
matador
sw1nqs
on the
fleur de lis
christopher
you betrayed
my ancestors
what then
can i say
for my people.
i can say
distilled
in a
conquistador’s
thimble from
black blood
in the mango
wisdom of
coniucius
cauldroned
with the
fires of
krishna
the palm trees
now view
venus and jupiter
under the
chimneys
which float
across the
bay into
sticks of sugarcane
and the drums
beat out the
witches brew
of my
people