Dangled Poems

Collops of Fat

Collops of fat line the tables of the few,
while the many stretch hands toward empty plates.
Skyscrapers rise in the capital,
yet in the villages, children bend under jerrycans,
walking miles for a sip of muddy water.

The economy grows, they say—
percentages polished and paraded—
but the growth is stored in vaults,
not in classrooms with broken desks,
not in hospitals without medicine,
not in the pockets of the farmer who tills red soil for nothing.

Every election season,
collops of fat are dangled like bait—
T-shirts, soap, envelopes,
promises swollen with grease,
but never nourishment for tomorrow.

The youth, restless, crowd into boda stages,
degrees folded in pockets,
dreams reduced to dust by unemployment.
Markets overflow with speeches,
but not with buyers.
Streets fill with posters,
but not with jobs.

Uganda’s wealth pools in corners,
thick, congealed, unreachable.
The nation limps,
while a few grow heavier, rounder,
their laughter echoing across gated compounds.

Collops of fat—
the evidence of excess,
the proof of imbalance,
the weight carried not by those who eat,
but by those who starve.

Unsure of Cell or Shore: Version 2

We made our padded rooms,
Trampoline parks for a time,
For bouncing off the walls,
As we crash into the side.

Those clouds our leather breakers,
Eroding rolling rows,
Salty tongues to a gobstopper ball,
Cancelling the storm.

Strapped into a jacket,
A hopping biped fowl,
From pterosaur to Christmas baste
Skin golden crisped to taste.

Thrown off the pier a flip,
Does blind the inner ear,
To up or down, or sand or air,
Our skull: the barycentre sphere.

Clouds overhang again,
Dangled down on unseen strings
A sea of puppets bobbing,
On white lip crests of sea.

Thrown like a bottled ship,
Lab foetus in a jar,
My pickled skin, burned crisp like chicharrón,
A whole communion of my form.

Nesting

There’s a faded blue tarp
On an old pile of wood 
For a fireplace no longer used. 
Though my hearing’s not sharp, 
I thought maybe I could 
Hear a strange sound that got me confused.

So I opened the door,
Seeing if I could find
If a creature was making that scritch 
And before I looked more,
There to pay me no mind,
Was a squirrel, his jaws all a’twitch.

He was ripping at holes 
In the tarp that he’d made
And from out of his mouth dangled blue.
Seemed that one of his goals,
If attention was paid,
Was a nest of that very same hue.

Now I’m searching the trees,
Gazing up through the leaves,
Trying hard to discover that nest.
So if anyone sees
Something that he perceives
As bizarre, he can let his mind rest.

The Cashier

The bridge above her nose was pierced,
Her nostrils were, as well,
With several silver bars laced through,
As far as I could tell.

Her upper ears both sported studs
And wrapped around her neck
A studded leather choker served,
With others, to bedeck.

I couldn’t count how many more
(I didn’t want to stare)
And on her wrists, assorted bracelets 
Brightly dangled there.

She was a very friendly soul 
And so I had to ask
If she slept with all her piercings;
She did not take me to task.

She simply laughed and said she did,
Not what I thought I’d hear,
Since I take my earrings out each night,
Just one in either ear.

sliver of silver

she had attempted to colour in outside of the box
now the silver lining dangled from a broken necklace
suffocated her aspirations oozed discontent and sorrow
	
the shine had come off and no amount of polish would
erase smudges and impurity nor restore a once lucid soul
reflections tore at her heart and strangled in darkness

precious metal now a neck tie of craving for balance
reprieve from discomfort aberrations and delusions
pendant to be relieved from reversed penchant of life

at first she assigned emotions to one crazy error of judgement
distortion of passion disillusionment or mere false appraisal
yet resentments turned on herself in anger insecurity and fear

her whole mindset had been poisoned inflamed to the core
only complete reconstruction of Self would yield any success
which is when she decided to stop running away to face the truth

Magnum Opus - incomplete

Cantankerous cancers found my blood letting from the slit, 
Is it avarice of me to desire the love begetting of Lazarus?
Enjoying life cadaverous like forgetting the want to live, 
Is it glamorous for me to die while God desires I live? 

Forgo the solid ground, 
My feet dangled off the edge of a jagged cliff. 
I fought the howl of squalid sin, 
I caught the wind sending back the fire of my padded spliff. 
Below I spotted a town, 
My feet angled to squish what I saw down to the earth’s crusty skin. 
Got calls asking where I’ve been.
Like,
“Just, 
Just been wondering.” 
Yeah yeah. 
Yeah, 
I guess you’ve just been wondering? 

Could’ve made it better before I made it end, 
Would’ve, 
Should’ve, 
But I wouldn’t have liked to make amends. 
A couple foot of rope set up to further suspend, 
Just to be an easy way out for whoever he is?
I misunderstood a friend on what is perpetuity, 
I just want to live forever, 
Instead I pretend to breathe on incongruity. 
And as I descend upon,
I felt alive again when I grew dizzy.

I felt alive, 
In my life, 
I felt alive as I grew dizzy.

Written in Santa Maria della Vittoria

The feast, it happened, of Saints Peter and Paul.
I’d called in early, for a final look
at Saint Teresa in her cosy nook,
before the tourists made a shopping mall
of this delightful church. My plans on stall
(for Mass was under way), I soon forsook
my statue contemplation, since the hook
the sermon dangled caught me in its thrall.
Those two great saints of Roman pedigree
had done their time in prison, unlike us,
but (said the priest) our new captivity
is of our own creation – reasoned, thus:
“The Prison of the Ego”. Yes, that’s me.
To add one word would be superfluous.

precipice

he would not avoid the void any longer
like a cliff hanger he dangled at the abys
abysmal emotions told him to leap yet
for action he searched for a jump lead
when silent retreat bonded with Self
nothingness created a vacancy for life

Dangling Upside Down

When you travel and you’re on a plane,
Attendants must always explain
What to do in a crash
But the words they rehash
Most on board think are spoken in vain.

Yet a Delta flight recently dipped
As it landed and suddenly flipped.
Every seat belt held tight
As each one on the flight
Dangled upside down, very off-script.

Flight crews got all the passengers out
With some injuries scattered about
But they all did survive,
In one piece and alive,
Though quite shaken up, there’s little doubt.

A payout from Delta proposed
Thirty-thousand for each one exposed
To this harrowing turn
(More than some people earn)
But not worth it, as many disclosed.

A Kiss in the Dark

I was the satyr you embraced
who was more than a kiss in the dark
and rose in your eyes like a rising sun
to dry the wet dew of your hauntings

I was the twilight breeze to your evenings
the burning star in your celestial black sky
where your perdition tempered my surrender

you were the intoxication of my life's longing
a flavored fruit to be devoured
in your sensual secluded realm of fantasy
who drew me in like a black widow

whose fragrant essence fermented 
   a desired forbidden love
revealing a more excited passion
   that clouded my senses

I wandered the abandoned places of my soul
grasping for a jeweled thread of possibilities
you dangled from your web of deceit
freely laughing as I reached once again
   for your soft skin
covered in the balm of aromatic aroma
inviting my senses to vanish
in the banquet of your fervor
designed to fill my lips with your Lilith kiss
of revenge for those who came before
to leave nothing, between my memory
   and the passing of time
but an empty husk... that was my heart

Burn In My Light

I waited so long to be saved
But a savior never came
No Superman to save me
From the edge of the cliff
So I picked myself up
Nursed my wounds
Fixed my clothes
And now I'm overlooking
A raging ocean
Feeling the spray
Of Poseidon's wrath
But something is boiling
Beneath my skin
Racing through my veins
Sharpening my gaze
Because the thing is
When the pain finally vanishes
All that is left
Is all consuming rage
Maybe you don't understand
How long I dangled
From the edge of the cliff
How long I waited
For someone to come along
How long I waited
To simply feel like I mattered
But like a forgotten footnote in time
Nobody even knows my name
So let me just say it
My name is Christopher
I'm no longer frowning
I'm no longer at risk of drowning
My name is Christopher
And there is no more sorrow
Only anger
So thank you for nothing
Because 
I waited so long to be saved
But a savior never came
So I saved myself
And now look at me glowing
But to you it's burning
So feel free
To burn in my light

Couches and Couches

I sat upon couches and couches 
To search for a new one to buy,
Yet each had a negative aspect,
Though my husband gave each one a try.

Some had shapes that I didn’t approve of,
Others colors that had no appeal.
Quite a few were so deep, my legs dangled
And I hated how that made me feel.

We saw fabrics and leathers and pillows,
Most of which I rejected on sight,
But we finally found one, not perfect,
Though much better than merely all right.

Did we buy it? Not yet, but I’m thinking,
For I need time to sit and decide
And my good-natured husband is waiting,
For with what I conclude, he’ll abide.

alent sho

He trundled his way up the three heavy steps
His mop of hair searching every direction
In the middle of the stage a brash spotlight
shone on a large drum kit
Behind a curtain dangled over a hand painted sign
The burgundy curtains partially
covering the letters making it look like alent sho

The boy now seated behind the kit dwarfed by its side.
He adjusted his seat slightly, closed his eyes and
took a breath
The crowds murmurs abruptly cut by some drunks
sloshed repartee -Hey.kid you, a belch breaking his sentence-forgot your sticks
With a tiiter of some of the onlookers
The young boy slowly opened his eyes
A tear slowly rolled down his pale cheeks
Swaying from his chin for a moment
before falling
It meandered along the cymbal's it’s tremor almost melodically before snapping upon the snare
Each tear falling in perfect formation
No beat missed a methodical beat
One after another
The silence of the audience
mesmerised by his music
He played with such sadness
The tears of those watching only adding to his symphony

A Real Boy

I walked beneath the ribcage of a giant whale;
Encapsulated in the briney entrails of an empty long-dead being.

Its grimace echoed in these halls of boned wall,
Of which calcite chambers temper;
Sturdy glass upon the shores.

Licked by lightning, hiding hints,
Raking sand with combs of sea,
Until I reached the portcullis,
I was too afraid to breathe.

From the bone, hung weeded curtains,
Sour, from the sea.
Dangled down, to repeat a sense,
Of giant mammal's teeth.

The viscera of foliage hung demure.
Violent, still, while biding time.
Swaying wet with salt, debris;
Beneath sat a heavy jaw.

Unclenched by neither cheek nor jowl,
Yet open for a crunch,
The mouth from which I stepped,
Devoured,
A sense of self I hadn't kept.

What once was oaken, knotted pine,
Engrained in skin of shrub and wood.
Was now the fleshy, un-divine,
Boy who ought and could.

Introducing the Splitzmodic Vibratones

Emaciated test-tube mutations 
Raised apart in pristine distillations 
Conceived in dexedrine celebrations 
and the crazed, ecstatic inhalations 
of the professor’s choicest pheromones 

Right-angled, inverted, and star-spangled
Drained and dangled till their nerves were jangled
Nearly psychedelically strangled  
Quantumly, at a distance, entangled 
On celestially balanced microphones

Their unproven kaleidoscope harmonics
Haywire mk-ultra histrionics
Phosphoric rhapsodical symphonics
And their backward time-lapse polyphonics
Transcribed on interstellar xylophones

For homunculus scintillations 
Splintered, syncopated oscillations
And desperate mute gesticulations
No one beats those galactic sensations
Our own mad-twin Splitzmodic Vibratones

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