I Dream Port Au Prince
A chopping block of slaves beneath malign verdure;
I wish the god would give me a break,
a minute or two lifetimes.
The Bawoun Samedi, he says that he has given me 100 years…
and he gets little for his invest! Ha!
Miss Danto spoke to me once about pauvrete
but I saw only the dais and the pulpit;
stadia and agorai where slaves were sold.
There stood priest and general and the president
grinning like Duke Death and his dog.
A panorama of capital and benefit unrolled
before our eyes; limitless weal.
a sleight of hand…
and we fall back into the abyssal einstein lens
of our patrimony: you see me…you don’t!
How many the private mansions of our souls were lost!
our tongues inhabit tenements.
The West cannot encompass me with palisades of science;
dry tinder box technology, buried under monoliths
of the Reasons on Salisbury Plain.