My anger is a burnt match on a blanket of snow. My anger

resembles the songsmith shredding his songs. I don’t get it

why conquest is another word for foreign policy, why this

prism tongue, unbreakable & tethered, is a colonizer’s tongue.


How to decolonize leaf & limb? How to decolonize a ghost

who says everyone is dead? I’ve met some of the dead, & they

make me wanna holler every time they shake their maracas

composed entirely of decay. Decolonize my colonized TV set.


Decolonize my decrepit body & abandoned consciousness.

Decolonize this ghost who would love to tell you it all broke down

with four-legged beasts & flying infections. It was simple

a cluster of cells that took hold of the corn, & the grip tightened

in the carcass of a drum. Decolonize my bones. In this haggard look

decolonize me. I want to see everything from a bird’s eye view.