His vulgarity is covered with earth toned textiles
With the dusty sandals and ashy heels to match
So it begins, your eyes fixed
The sound from the djembe hypnotises
As the voice of the figure standing transports you
To a place where flies hover above big bellied babies
Women are discoloured blue and black
Where the system runs you
And exercise a veto for thoughts
Africanism, Black power
No
I'm not a poet
I do not recite poems
It's just words!
Perhaps you might look up to view the images drawn by my thoughts
As metaphors and similes weave stanzas which can only be read with closed eyes
The brain will decipher messages from your skin
Subliminal messages of expiration
The nightmares that touch my face
About an incomplete thought of death sitting on my tastebud
The thoughts I live when I rest after dusk
I fuck around with words
I write like a poet
I'm not a poet
I am
