MBALA MGABO
from Spain Town to outer space
clad in khaki and hush puppy shoes
young boy with old man walk
I hunt the Thursday-new comics
from the magazine rack
in Victory drugstore on Cumberland Avenue
to that dark shop on Adelaide Street
where comics hang like clothes on a line
I trod these narrow Spain Town streets
my wide open head
smeared across galaxies
and night time in the churchyard
bed just steps away
from the claphand congregation
tambourines and tongues
of fire
as lullabies
my closing eyes
open doors
to multiverse
myth
interstellar void
love story # 8
we approach this love like armies
marching in the open but
wearing disguises
we hide our armour
beneath designer high class ghetto chic
replace our voices
with mass produced auto-tuned
mating calls
and as we move together
to the gunshot music
we mistake the grind and grate
of metal on metal
for the kiss
and hiss
of skin on skin
church sister
scars and scabs hidden
beneath band-aid pages
of holy books
she runs for refuge
to the warm comfort
the dark dis-comfort
of dogma
in the choir
tight eyed
she strains for the purity
of that higher note
searching for the
chapter-and verse
to end all aches
yearning for the promise
the golden land
the light
the light is
that naked bulb in the back room
and pastor’s holy
burning gaze
