i will love you through kerns,
ligatures, and the thump of a beatnik prawn.
when midnights prompted –
i have swum across your faces
to grimace in shock or pain to
cold stone floor and the cut of wild rocks on
the naked feet of naked bodies of naked souls
where i found with one (and only) foot
a leg-up on some nearby metal chair
where the wheeze of my inhale
sounded a bird in my lung
i have seen flesh trades for mutiny
under the pale odour of stale negro sweat and
Brand the slave!
cried the Americans of the Congo
who is you?
you are five emblems and
six symbols besides
my friends, my friends
this meat is life.
who i tasted between molars
(crunchy) in an unforgiving jaw.
and ground down, too