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Wednesday, March 9, 2016

UGANDA, 1991

Her black skin
rides my blood
Her wild mind
tickles my brain

I fumble with ashes,
angry and vain,
fragments of this smell,
they burnt the grass again

I see the sound of light
coming with the rain
Now it is a fetal green
coming violently bright

My heart touches here,
termites eat my memory,
wasps settle in my mouth,
I am a spirit there

Lonely priests at night
ask my advice,
the dogs bark
and children cry

Millet beer,
they beat the drums,
mosquitoes dance
I watch

But I cannot answer
I am a dream
My love is lost

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