under the Boabbab tree
a black rhino's ghost
waits for me
talk all day long why does
a man need help all along
and why, oh why
did it take me
to recoil in splendor
recline in revolving doors
tipped into meet men
powdered up
to engage in sin?
were you only to know
of the rape our harvest sews
in gallant nights
where bedsit fights
leave some scarring in
the afterglow
of ancient rites
to be buried in the snow
dashed in payment
wiped in semen
so majesty could banished be
by another failed
blood prophecy
but you
backed in
to this dead end door
of absolution
a trap door heaving wide
in false dream evolution
survival of the fittest
means men who fill with pain
and spittle drizzled swords and
spears and greed and tears
and diamonds raped
with speed and fear
what more to conquer?
in some kind of animal splendor
a creature that lived
and died
for your sins
and fake lust
you will not remember?
its tall proud shadow
the years of grass
in the endless meadow
too summarized and edited
for dimwits pleasure
and suffering
now dies in the heather...
we are a disease with shoes
an endless song that
plays the blues
we wipe every thing free of the beauty
while damning ourselves
with faint praise and duty
in the long grass
there are no more
hooves
no more earth pressed-weight
antagonism
we stripped you away
in absence of any danger
for black rhino's ghost singing
to be heard in the final hour
with its languor
would I lay down
wind down
so our songs would be be quiet
in some form of splendor
lost in gone waves
unending
surrender?
-----
p.s. - the human race is a pox on this world
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