Judgment of the Puppeteers
Heat harlotted in your hips
dances and harlequins new hysteria
on the broken, troubled floor you move on.
That strobe light over your head
wasn’t put there by you.
Diamond dotted clothes
fabric and illuminate
beneath this light
undulate
beneath this light-
to show you trembling,
coupling, laughing.
Your face flashes
the pitch black animal wrestling
with your heart
behind a hot mask of shames.
You are a furnace for fools
who radiates nothing,
an unwashed costume
all the next mornings
dangling on an empty clothesline
waiting for your
nocturnal march through alleyways,
underneath underground discos
led by a brass instrument
of motleyed thorns
sticking you deep inside your head.
Your days have no lights,
night flashes artificially lit colors,
Music pricks you open
in private places
mechanically you dance
like human offspring of puppets
held loosely by chains.
by Tiffany Osedra Miller
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2 comments:
You are the artist here, this is your field and it's not easy to comment the "puppeters", not so much coloured as your other paintings, but still beautiful and meaningfull. accompained with the explanation on your poetry. Dear friend, Bassabassa, hope you are fine!
Gretings from muzungumalaika!
Your intensity with words are as graphic as your story-telling with images. You have the courage to face the world as you see it, as you live it, and you have the focus and rhythm to put it down. To record your own life. And to convey it to me. You are a poet. You are an artist.
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