By Ayiah Mensah
Now this sex strike. I grasp for breath. |
A riotous party. We are back to your particulars to make a vast parade of measures for the only street of no method in their proceedings and bring something out of yourself I am multiple reflections in that metal mirror |
Tell them when I wear big eyes, painted, flat and dull, a laundry list of questions. Paint this night with faces |
I need over eighty sittings to finish this picture behind a mask left under your care. In this room, nothing further of importance is elicited |
observed, is securely locked. It is not possible now to say how the injuries you have been inflicted in the cellar, I am inordinately possessed, from the background, children who refuse to sleep because they have no eyes drawn for them to close, we descend down from a great deal of disbelief, and these confused young husbands. |
Tell them what has happened in the midair We cross Syntax River to Syntagm Island |
because you have paid the tickets. |
Tell them more in monocular angles. It is four o’clock in the wet morning and still dark as midnight, No streetlight, no surgical mask, |
except this light heart, I am a schooner in my whole life out there in the full sea of silence. |
I divide the semibreve from this semi-conscious semicolon from the chest, I keep my bust from vista.
I am viscous,
vitrifying vivace scale.
I sing my virgin birth from this viol with enzymes. Tell them and I am listening.
I am listening to myself,
I am a question and unanswerable.
Jacob Kobina Ayiah Mensah, who is an algebraist and artist, works in mixed media. His poems have appeared in numerous journals. He lives in the southern part of Ghana, in Spain, and the Turtle Mountains, North Dakota.