Memo For Destroyer Poet a Linda: 3 20 P M, 23rd April 2013 Paris, France

MEMO for Destroyer Poet A Linda: 3. 20 p.m., 23rd April 2013 – Paris, France If you are Red I am Brown If you’re not Then as one concrete painter using phonemes to another Now we speak in the common-denominator tongue Of those who went across oceans Yours you took across the Bering From the frozen solid roof of the world The common step-mothering-tongue And the common heel-bone Take this memo down I tell myself For my long-lost sister Now weary with chilblains And walnut warts from the long trek Tell her you’re sorry You took so long Tell her you read excerpts of her outpouring In a lone-lost cave overgrown with moss lost without cause Mixed with the growls and coughs of shaggy beasts And the lone mountain lioness’ scowling howl at the stars In a dry season Tell her you’re sorry not to have returned the compliment For this’s the Way of the Community That each rushes to fulfill a sacrosanct duty Tell her I read your spiraling lyrical threnody of the Soul’s age-old Odyssey through the bony interstices of breast-beating moans and groans Right there where it hurts most in the guts I saw how your people lifted themselves on their fists after their arms and knuckles looked gnarled I saw the claws of the lone eagle clutch your soul in one fell swoop down concertina centuries And make you swallow your tongue wailing in cloistered valleys of lilacs and magnolias to the rhythm of crescendo stamping feet and besetting winds cacophonous through wildly flapping wigwams I felt the ancient beat of your pulse in the huskily refined whisper of your verse come seething harpies unleashed at my throat I saw wild stallions sleek and shoddy manes aloft come steaming and fuming down mountain sides your fathers tamed I saw generations of silent sturdy women kindle fierce fires while brawny braves rode away on bare-backs to bring the venison back I now hear your gentle voice in dulcet drops tinkle down waterfalls of your manifold genres Yet I do not hear you cry Nor do I wonder why You are made of that stuff of breed That can traverse ice without steed And scale Himalayas down continents To reach the other side of impediments And lest I forget let me tell you this Your lyrical voice will linger long in bliss. Every good wish. Sincerely, T. Wignesan