111.
The signposts were up
for the readers, for the poets to clue in:
No more poetry with possessives
& there you were, holding my hand
a possessive
my hand
Signpost 1:
your head is broken
your is a possessive
your head belongs to you
Signpost 2:
my head is broken
my is a possessive
I own my own head
Signpost 3:
our heads are cloven
our heads is a plural possessive
Signpost 4:
a hateful eye meets a mean eye
Signpost 5:
exit ahead – Amach
we’re almost there
hands still entwined
we’re laughing
homestretch
112.
The glass in your hand
is full of the night sky
the moon in it is clear, full & bright
Take a sip
this taste of glory
doesn’t mattert
doesn’t really matter
The moon shimmers in the glass
resplendent
next to the red umbrella beside it
the moon in my mouth is a delightful crunch
your blue on mine is a moment I can’t buy
& the warmth down my throat
is worth a morning that will not show
113.
second floor
green paint
a clock counting down to eternity
the moon
a soft & exhausted sun
two or three women who look alike
men who look nothing like you
a scowl
we’re still walking through this poem
114.
out in the distance
the desert creeps
in the same pace it has for millenia
as the lineup of witnesses decreases
— they have work
children other obligations
so now just you & me
to watch the desert crawl
115.
On the top floor
Christ & the devil in deep conversation
fineprinting, the two of them
fineprinting the laws of devotion
& the meaning of sin
beside them a scawl on the wall
a heart with an arrow
between N & A 4evah
Shandon explodes in a warm glow
nothing changes
nothing remains the same
now I know, I know
Juliane Okot Bitek 