|Nathaniel Mackey [Gloria Graham]|
Song of the Andoumboulou: 62 [excerpt]
It was the Ricochet Lounge
we ducked into, last call.
Sun Ra played a Toupouri
harvest. “They plan to leave,”
semisaid, semisang, chimed in.
Hoarse arkestral flutes laid a
rug of water under our feet.
It was the end of the world
again . . .
A warning song the semisong we
we all walked circles inside our
heads. Each of our heads an
aroused ark, a flat rock we
we awoke aboard ship, a spinning
rock flying saucerlike, obduracy’s
day drawn out. Dread auspice’s day
a skipping rock we grew wet with,
legs and hemlines wrinkling the face
of the bay, at obduracy’s behest we
walked on water . . . Stone ark we
stepped and stood on, miraculously
flat, spun with, could barely keep our
feet . . .
Obdurate sky the it we sense wrote
epitaphs on, we without world or
it without us, circling square less
than one, centrifugal, farther out
longer we walked. Choked up
wearing epic shirts, moot ribbons,
ythm’s day begun . . . We were
he’s and we were she’s, each
one or the other, felt between our
divining which. Home where there was
none, stone as close as we got,
talking the twos again . . . We were
I and 1, each 1 another; felt among
outselves fathoming which . . . One
dreaming again, lost to us dreaming,
ing us lost