anarchic silver shining through this mud
this terra-cotta blood
he say, 'corazon, you gotta wear shoes in dis shit.'
i say, 'nah, when i'm barefoot i don't slip.'
up the hills and through the jungle
howlers makin' love in the rubble
opulent
waxy
orchids covering the vines
in sticcato singsong he tells me that
in the osa lives this white guy with three african wives
and he be the king of an africa in his mind
this guy beneath pristine green eyes
preaches about garvey and selassie but not marley
there ain't nobody don't know marley
in cahuita, his likeness is stained on alla the buildings
sweet herb covering tired eyes
he say, 'in dis jungle we trade water for bombs.'
i say, 'does your god hurt as much as you do?'
he say, 'he has to.'
and we're covered in this sugar rusty mud
sweat staining shins and thighs
sun like a firecracker
burning up my blue eyes
thinkin' of that white rasta
just as shut down by
oxymoron
as i