What is this I see ?
A smoke or a ghost !
where do I leave my glasses?
oh, it is a fire that has taken to wake
the forgotten day again in this museful night
or what! the melon moon
cut in curvy half to rest upon its belly
behind or beside or on top the palm tree
sapped by the watch and carrying
a melon moon and everybody
all along.
Ah, these nutsedges, my failing glasses
or even this starry tune of dark hue
lay walking skulls above our naked fence, footsteps approaching—!
I had better get in bed before this,
this eerie calm fashion a rendezvous with some guests lost in soul, starved of flesh.



© Favour Ike