Congolese Violet Poetry

Poker Face

cvpoetry — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 21:14:13 +0000

The words never uttered
become red pepper flakes
baked in the nostril.

Until dry and
cementing a forced smile,
all tears are clear.

There is no poker
eye or face
when this game
ends. Only toxic
grain for rice gnawing
pigeons who feast
then explode.

Drawing age 7

cvpoetry — Wed, 20 Aug 2008 21:01:19 +0000

The sun smiled from the top left
corner in red lipstick.

Diagonal rays kissed
the house my crayons etched
because a shit
sky rise was hard to draw;
harder to explain.

I knew I could make fire
with the alphabet, even then.
I gathered six letters
scrawled them over the waxy green
and waited for the sun’s fingernail
to strike my name and spark.

nameless

cvpoetry — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 02:36:21 +0000

Word mothers
incubate human expression. The
thesaurus cravings and swollen
fingers culminate in heavy
alphabetic breathing as
words inch painfully through the
mind’s dilating
funnel onto paper.

Now, I press this product of
perfect labor against my
chest: two nameless stanzas
exposed to the world on a
blank page.