More fun with lyriku

 

The inspiration

WELP!

AN IDEA OF IMPROVISATION AS ENTERING A TEMPLE

or sensing, no inventing

the singular sound of

a bowl of fuchsia blossoms

to somehow say

“why is a future tense”

to reflect or project

what we alone feel presently

becomes a recurrent currency—

kneeling or falling before

a nearly purple sound

to make what 

we might ache to field

or place as scene—

a local sight

of the solo

as empathogen.

Bah Humbug!

AN IDEA OF IMPROVISATION

AS A HAUNTOLOGY WITH

A RECIPE FOR PERSIAN ROULETTE

(after Kaveh Akbar)

Why does life set tar along our path?

As a child nearly any thesaurus 

roared like a favorite dinosaur until

the beloved came before me to leave 

a cursive sitar next to certain furniture

on legs too short & dark for longing

how far must my sheep now wander

inside the silent ones a rose to set art 

circling round the sound of our father

like a tarot type of card in some casino

of the heart down to our bottom holler

I would grip the right arm of a slot machine

like the leftover parts of a long gone lover 

—if only I found the Farsi word for star

Elastic like Ekphrastic

a red wheelbarrow

how the rain water carries

the chicken’s white call

Happy Helen Folásadé Adu Day!

 Welp! Here we go again. I’m not thirsty, you’re thirsty  

AN IDEA OF IMPROVISATION 

AS MUCH ADU ABOUT NOTHING

“Didn’t I tell you what I believe,

didn’t I say that . . .”

Sade

Ifemi, how many 

more dream cycles 

before your cat eyes

& vixen lipstick

leap the ravine 

of No Return

to sip me

as a sommelier would 

a glass of Pinot

or your rebel red nails

press their crescents

across the midnight sky 

of my back?

Pray tell, who else is paying

attention to the shades

of your phases

of the moon tattoo?

Half icicle, half feather,

it seems

only this morning

your fingers 

counted every curl

on my neck.

Oh, freckled cheeks of Jesus,

I may be starting 

to grasp

how Cupid kills

some with arrows,

some with traps.

 But who knows

if even communion

 could classify

the butterflies caught

by your amber irises.

Ifemi, has it not

been written

—as a saxophone

signals sapphire—

that a fool for roses

may soon be 

a fool for rain? 

What keeps 

us seeking heat 

from palms 

marked by symbols

of five types of feral?

Have I 

been humming

 the wrong lyrics 

to the right songs

or the right lyrics

to the wrong songs

ever since your ponytail

of [titanium & samarium]

swung past 

a burst flame of bud 

to our last good buy?

Ifemi, I’m still 

not sure if

the sandalwood & citrus

in your hair

helped settle 

what you seemed 

to be trying to say 

about absence 

as a way of staying,

but should our gazes

cross again, 

I promise

not to miss

your wrist’s brassy passion 

for Adinkra charms

& police bracelets

or how your husky alto

could begin to crown

 my love as king.

Ifemi,

is it a rhyme 

if not even 

the nutty undertone 

of almond blossoms 

can stop me 

from being spotted 

like a Luna moth

in the halo 

of a porch light,

drawn to

what’s tucked under 

the welcome mat

of one woman’s 

tongue?

December dawn

 

Introducing Shroomi

The following is a collection of sayings by and poems about Shroomi, the famous and infamous mystical figure that I just made up about a day ago. 

changing the batteries

in the neon buddha

Shroomi 

re-upholstering

the Divan of Hafez

Shroomi

What we seek

is in our lapse

Shroomi

glimpsing

the wine beyond the glass

Shroomi

unreadable

in words or letters

Shroomi

Violets are red

roses are blue

Shroomi as pi

is irrational too

slice your finger

suture as sutra

Shroomi

one cicada

on three branches

Shroomi

why are whispers

IN ALL CAPS

Shroomi

Shroomi deems

all the eggs in NJ

bedeviled

Shroomi types

dog is good

all the time

finally reaching 

their adult Fahrenheit

Shroomi

Shroomi wonders

if god is the only odd

perfect number

sprout beyond

notions of sense or nonsense

Shroomi

rhyming axolotl

with “a showboat”

Shroomi 

broken guitar

nothing left of the blue

in Shroomi’s eyes 

kissing the hands

of the cuckoo clock

Shroomi 

cursive words

in yellow on snow

Shroomi was here

reciting 

Aha in his fez

Shroomi

broken guitar

the unstrung blue

in Shroomi’s eyes

the women

giggle when he appears

Shroomi

calling shotgun

everytime we roll

Shroomi

oh gee

it’s a trochee

Shroomi

Shroomi says

god is the sky

in the pi

shredding his poems

before ghazaling them

Shroomi

reciting Hafez 

versus Hafez verses

Shroomi 

more people

on the garden path

than Shroomi has

jelly of all

the obsidian beans

Shroomi

sufi in the streets

fluty in the sheets

Shroomi

knot keeping

up with his haijin

Shroomi

sooner reciting

“my seal, Liam”

Shroomi

falling into

the black rabbit whole

Shroomi

do not buy

this book if you’re high

(Shroomi says)

not bound

by what he’s bound for

Shroomi

not in bed

before ache o’clock

Shroomi

doe-eyed 

as Euclid’s proof of limitless primes

Shroomi’s beloved

twice now

multiplying in Times Square

Shroomi

almost resembling

most of it assembled 

Shroomi

December moon

sighing in Sagittarius 

Shroomi

putting the nig

in shenanigans

Shroomi

not a jagoff

except for when he isn’t

Shroomi

what tongue

doesn’t know

the E in need

is longer than 

the E in desire

Shroomi

the jay is blue

because his feathers are gray

Shroomi