UTTERANCE

I was drunk last night
from the keg of uttering pots
whose marrows shone
like pieces of piercing diamonds
on bended wooing knees
smiling in absent smells
of waiting kisses
and passing rush.

I was drunk last night
like a broken poet
in egg shells,
when I sang utterances
in the tunes of a gypsy song
who danced in ashes blood
of boiling incense

but why
would she make me wait
at the breast of another bread –
where the milk
is but a shadow,
and vapours stand
for sailing passion
with: “angels on
my pillows?”

and now
we would make
the liquor whisper
in voices unheard
at the sudden enchantment
of swift influences

I was drunk last night –
stuck between
the ancient crush
and this brazen me

and let The Spirit
and let the voice
become One
in my Utterance

and maybe someday
when blood
is made flowers,
I shall say the parable
of the broken kolanut.

-Kenneth Christie-Atiti.