Not About Africa-September 2006

There is a reason that life is long
And days are short
(like bursts of thunder in a drought)
and it is so.

Like airports sit in ruts,
Street-ridged leas with water and trees, sometimes
Basins spreading
Holes grow larger every year

And I am talking to my temptress, Rwanda
With a name like thick air and a land like

It is not my place to describe things that I can never understand
As they will change
And I will not.

Because there is reason in illusion the way that there is
languid in thick
And the shit-smeared walls of Darfur
Don’t exist
As I can’t see them

I just believe that we should be logical about things.

If the senses tingle but don’t fixate,
Existent.

If the senses are not loose, but seized up, like an atheist in indignation
(Always)
then,
not.

But there is passion in painted pictures of fruit, and
Flowers bloom in photographs because
That is what they are intended to do,
Regardless of art.

(and meaning)
(is not)
a solution.

This one time I wrote a poem about color and it was more real than red
(is).

And this one time my father read me a story about reason and I ignored
(it).

And gimmicks are a means to true love
(which waits).

And I am tired of waiting.