in which my race has developed.
Curving and lifting, the street
takes off past.
Will it achieve the exhausted waters
underneath the far off mango trees?
Scents of consumed earth and salt cod
floating under the gag of thirst.
A grin part the ready coco-plum
of a matured face.
The unclear supplication of smoke-trails.
Mourn of a drawn out neighing
that scales the sides of the gorges.
Voices of rum
with their relax
warming our ears.
Rattle of dominoes rifling the feathered creatures' rest.
in the warm gut of our banjos.
Chuckling of want in the profound inner parts of the night.
Mouths kept from bread
swilling the shoddy liquor
The island pushing towards morning
its weight of mankind.