Forgotten

bloodywrits.blogspot.com

an excerpt, to be spoken, from something trashy

Someone called me a genius once.

She lied, I think she meant my tongue.

Another called me a boring bookworm

She knew nothing: I read the reviews,

pick up books, skip to the coital scenes

I re-read these scenes until pages innumberable

are etched in rolls of vellums in my memory

Now when I speak, my words come coital

They loiter in the air just outside my labia-

majora …injuring my friends,

my selfish friends who know I

am ‘selfisher’ and stink of 3

day old, low class members of the fish club-

sawa*.

That is not all.

My mind is a see-saw.

I see, I saw, I wonder . . .my momma

came, she bore, I sauntered

out into a field of mostly scorched, brown

grass

some go from grass to grace

I just hobble and trek from one paddock of scrapes

to another where pleasure tastes like hot brine

and the hurts, pain and rejection make me smile

chai! The clock chimes into my glass-

cup in ticks and tocks

it’s half-full, there’s no time to waste

If, perchance, I die with my spectacles on the bridge of my nose

without making you, babe, score a big O;

without scribbling into your eyes and mind words , profound;

without making worthwhile the acre-wide frowns

you for my sake, sometimes, bear

          I shall be that silly dude

who has sex, miaow, on his mind when he sees a nun;

who reneges tax, steals from the government and gives a tenth to God;

who, depressive, thinks suicide is stupid but bought a magnum;

who sneers at magic, gifts it his middle finger but feeds his leprechaun . . .

          just for the gold

 I shall be just that silly dude

who speaks and writes these monophthongs and syllables with

molecules from glands and gentian dye that you see on your monitor

grin at . . .and you forget

I just might be that silly dude

who your minds, ganglia and brains refuses

to embrace . . .forgotten

*Sawa- pronounced sha-wa in yoruba, a fish I truthfully am piscist about.