Telegrams
from the Ivory Coast by Matthew Keenan Author's Links |
1.
In yellow dust a blade stabbed to its hilt in rising ground that mounts like a cathedral kept my body tranquilized while a burglar had his will. The sound of a skeleton key in the lock broke the meniscus of my sleep. My eye attent like quicksilver in a spoon she held me taut. 2. Come O Aminata, Ivorian flower, come hair : a sculpture of wool body : dryad form in a wet dress essence : sauce claire on yam foutou bridal price : four young bulls 3. It is the practice of the Yacouban witch to boil her bloodied panties in the water she uses to cook the rice she serves the man who will become enamored of her like a flea engorged with dog's blood. 4. In Duékoué lives a man with deeply furrowed brow who walks the night dressed in white. Out of the darkness I see his form unfurling. 5. I felt the dread of an ambiguity conceal itself before my eyes in the purple dress she wore. 6. The eye does not follow what it has traced, at dusk a whippoorwill skims the blades of grass. 7. I gazed into a pool from high in a tree. Rosecrucian apples had fallen into the pool. I set in motion a wooden frame hanging from a branch not so much to catch the fruit if ever one should fall as to deflect it make its trajectory oblique. From a hole in the tree emerged red foxes and white dogs. |
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