Ca: the African
I no longer hear from the window
Downstairs, the edible syllables
Of the the Congo drum salivating
Its whispers on my hungry ears.
The seduction of sweet nuances
Stirring latent passion; the dares
For midnight dances
In the nakedness of silence; taunting
My soul with desires
For black uncoiling rhythms
That move like a fire; tantalizing
The shadow; leaving
The moon undress
Cold upon the floor.
Bring back my writhing song
The slithering tide across the shore
Let me encore throng
Of feelings trapped in that wilderness.
ITS SOUL TORTURED BY FERTILE SCHISM
THE CITY SLEEPS STLL, AND DREAMLESS NOW
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