Never mind steel,
We are creating new materials,
Carbon nano-tubes, poly-ceramics,

Twirl a ball above your head, we are
Building elevators into space,
Stringing massage parlours around the earth,

We are engineering ourselves,
Computer worlds and,
Selling real estate, we

Are leaving the old people,
Behind,
Stained curtains and they are,

Walking into forests,
In Japan.

They say that Africans,
Will have to fight for a place on the bus,

So I am pulling out all the stops.

I am burning incense and,
Turning out closets,
-exorcising demons-

I am fumigating my life,
Throwing out old clothes and,
Trying to curry favour,

-surely children were not meant for the streets,
Nor nations meant for war-

I have found sack cloth and ash and I,
Intend to,

Gouge flesh with home-made irons
Flagellate until I bleed sin,
All over the carpet.

There will be gnashing of teeth,
And great wailing,
-effort must be made-

I shall identify,
Church pews with nails and,
Kneel!

But the spotlight keeps missing me,
And I manage only to elicit,

Splendid chuckles from my nephew.

Here I am,
In a long, low, valley,
On a horse, under sweltering sky.

A single trail runs East to West,
As far as the eye can see.

The sheep-skin bags,
Strung low off the saddle,
Are empty.

Bandits rode into town last week,
And made off with a couple of dreams,

Now I must know,
Which way to go,

I am the Sheriff,
The dream-catcher.

You are,

Living on the top floor,
On a,
Bunk-bed,
In Finland,

In a cultured,
High-rise habitat,
With cool, kitchen kettles,

Where,

You are not visited except by cameras,
Or people taking your children away.

On the African savannah,
The mission brief had been simple.
Go in and find a Warthog.

The Americans had gone in and nuked the place,
Then claimed there had been none to begin with.

The Israelis against strong,
Local advice,

Had sent in Mossad,
Undercover.

-why go in, looking like food,
the lions had a field day-

The Africans, however,
Had not reported by nightfall,

So at daybreak a search party was launched.

They found three Kenyans surrounding a giraffe,
Spread-eagled securely to an Acacia tree.

The Sergeant-at-arms was taking notes,
Whilst his Officers flogged,

The poor thing screaming,
“Confess you’re a Warthog, confess!”

why don’t you?

lift your arms and
heal yourself

stand taller than you
were made

be stronger
than fear

mould dreams into
rainbows

why don’t you

set root
and paint the world

green with envy
you are alive

simplify your needs and
grow wings,

or stand still,
and skin lizards,

decorate yourself
in war paint,

shake off the dust,
why don’t you

uproot yourself and
walk a mile

in any direction you like,

you must at least
try,

To rage against
this idea

that you cannot
and perhaps

the sweat off your brow
will seed fertile ground,

coat handsome men
with lust for life

become
aphrodisiac

Her legs will be amputated but,
Non-collapsible items like,
Book-shelves and fathers
Can make a space to survive.