Jungle Riddim

When it got too heavy
the canopy fell down:
the cats pawed at confetti—

Rain fell with it, and San Franciscan
bands of fog to emend our lists:
errata, one, and corrigenda.

I inhabit these too deeply:
thin disguises, broken glasses,
water bottles, table textures,

hoarse falsettos, soft tortillas,
shrewd predictions, cauliflower,
mandarin waffle irons,

gray amazing paper scrapers,
lasers with an eye for fashion
cascading rather like an onion,

ears for fears, A Love Supreme,
my alter ego in a dream
(where I was played by Johnny Cochrane).

I wrote a poem when I was twenty one
in which the moon in horror shone.

LABORED BLOCKING

OK, you go over there.

Top this, Mr. Mahogany, Mr. Mattress-Spring,
Mr. Coiled-Snake's
kin oil,

rock out, knock your block
out the wall you built.
Two-bit tooth-bit telephone cord
swirltangle-for-brains.

At the pass my call was cut off.
OK, you go over there.

Mr. Answerprecludesthequestion, Mr. Myliege,
I was foiled in my toiling.
The hurricane breeze blew crocodilic words,
lisping into my brain,
some strange weather from the north.

Oh, I see. You stand over there.