Jinxed spectacles of muddy chapters of fungi swamps
Hidden behind the palisades of glossary in the books of whims.
We have been weak in the femoral cavities of time
And instead of healing the theoreticians blasphemy,
We sat and watched.
Poetry cemented in the garbage of licentious holes of rebellious cunts.
Bandits scorched the insatiable phenomenon of cathedral sex
Humped in the loins of symbolic labia’s undressed in fragmented Scylla caves,
While menstruating spikes of devastating dry cycles.
Yoh! Ochuka Spit.
Knuckles are vain
If bloody pulps undo fists to symbolize pulpit grains
Pictures stalked into prism vase full of owls, a dozen
Doves in barrage
And hope that the roads to the nooses’
Shall notice the mirage
There’s every speck of tear smeared on the hinges
Logged in pure filth, and there be life – was let
Last violin violets to wither
Shall flute the pine box
For the sphere’s seed holes to swallow till it chokes
Lying red and bruised and throbbing
Between the sheets
Bones are but straws that suck the skin deep.
These are knobbed hymen
Lined and dripping sincerity of an open sanctuary
Tapping the menses of the sun to sieve a lineage
Spelled in semen quarry
Of the future rocking and imbibing the deepest poetry
Plucked from sweaty climes of the soul
When primal pricks stir the edge of brimming life
Overflowed by lacking
Drilled thoughts of milling only skin hide in
Into the poodle to pick abysses from
Flower beds mounting sleep to dress a crater
A trickle of unnamed ashtrays table their humble cold
As frost of tears bleed to guide caresses of roads
Stemming exalting knees,
For worship to lord the house
Rewrite the prodigal leap of faith
And free thought
Swing Morpheus lower on his deathly chariot
Then who registers every fragment of the opium
Named after cheerleader of the lamb?
Blunt shadows of the moon that lost admiration
To northern stars awed by the owing of myrrh
Smelling out of creased ridges of bodily laps.
But this is stupendous poetry
Marveling like Priapus composing erotic sonnets of form.
(Shhh: Blistered Poetry)
We stand ridiculed for standards
Barrage of ribs pillaged from Africa’s cage
Of lost footing erecting stolen monuments
But finer eye into the past slides faith
Like orgasmic fires peak on a thirsty and dried forests.
And as brittle wicks char their tongues
To brew the skin of a dark nights
The fireflies are canning every lease of life, the siphoning
Martyred souls of the soil
Drenched the linens with blood owning their rivers
And its little disguise salting historical wounds.
And naming graves after cityscape
That dug sewer lines to flush every ill and sour grapes
As lame as epitaph honors are abused by flags half mast
Tell the Hansard keeper
To lot the ledger with purple hearts
And Sodom apples reserved like dam
Geysers of sin that feebly rendered our damnation.
We probe the monstrous hubris of entitlement
False knowledge usurping the Hall of Fame Inductees,
But poets consecrated homeopathism in the graves of our feet.
Now we pestle crammed bitch communion
Chanted ahead by cuckolded crowd of rhetoric bastards.
Here in the folly of the Sahara,
We register martyrs and warp vain purloined poets into the rectum of a bloody pig.
We reek as Interlopers
Ours to create potency in our linguistic beacon
Our sparkling art in the legend of Om
Sew every wall
Bandaging brothels to remind a people
Of sutures traced to lead to innermost lore
Where tribal rain is a fertile pour seeding a house
That forgets own nakedness on the pool
Mirrored from the drawbridge
We erect backbones from the closets
Somewhere beneath unmarked graves
Lie the scent of residual mistakes,
Patterned then smashed
Into mirror dusts and buried without dignity.
They are sprouting shambles
Sprinkled like dung-heap.
But whose world bleeds sequel stale
Fart a lungful nomad of citizens
Ruined at a costly tale:
An animal kingdom,
Recall wandering death by poisoned well?
And pens are knives sank to stumble
The rawest meat of hidden bones
Collect the fragments
And stamp it due a salty letter
Before silver bullets are written on my name
And such printed thoughts
Hooked on a blackmail
I have black-listed all that surround a clover
For mere drips of nectarine
And all that hosts the nodes
With hopes eyeing a sugar tree.
It’s the sharpest axe
Wedging a passage that middles
The difference between
Gulping jars and the breadth
Of lean lamb-meat
But these woods are written on
Sand full of papers
I am fanning splintering selves
Forbidden in altarpieces
Yet throbbing like
A wired stem of desires
Waxing and weakening knees
Of a whole empire.
Late orange sunset
And hands are still clasped on divine psalms
Emptied limb-laces find calling to be a valley
Rusty tax coins enthroned on dried off blood
Fragile pine leaves whistle to soothe the wind
As vultures wade teary minds seated on saltshakers
Wishing the vines grow
To unearth a season of carcass wrinkling
Like visiting foots into temple floors,
Purity and that is an eyeing of an ordained beginning.
© Omondi Ochuka & Eddy Ongili 2014