Drains are Amazing
My hands are clematis-like on a burning fence,
Chopping, and piercing through ice-cold pickets where:
A moon of black depths cries in white china;
And bushy trees come alive—raising and drooping.
I stare when the water stirs a mirage,
And a feathery bed is laid on
Little salty drops in the ocean
Of universal climatic bags,
Then, a world of red blessings floats,
Cracks and knocks life encore.
Moons dance by, and midwives scatter
Like scurrying rats in the twilight.
Shrieks of hard war between thighs;
Tongue slapping, teeth grinding, and eyes saucer-like—
Her body melts salty-sour in her pool
When it pops like a corn.
With hoes in her mouth, she prays
Like a farmer in harvest.
Swarms of heads give in,
Cooing and worshipping and fanning
In bathed bloody body on godly breasts; she spreads the figure;
The fruit from a seed.
She adorns white on a black day,
And spreads carnation to the soul above,
Where hoarse chords of lullaby play
Gently, humorously—so she would sleep.
With these, they channel with water and
Bubble through little holes in every breath.
Drains are amazing.
Although her name is Salamot Fakoya, she sometimes uses Sally as a pseudonym (pen name). She loves to write, read poems and loves reading novels.