L'Afrique:

Bone-marrow transplant

Au Paris

Brutalized eyes

In a skull.

A husk of image

In an empty skin.

Thin. Thin.

Skin as tight as light

As shadows flickering

On a man with eyes like vipers.

Solemn, slow, the tusk begins to grow

From blood and bone. 

Limousines shudder

Yams decompose

Draining the body fluid

Into the sewer beneath

Tke-Tke

The analysand.

Above castle stone

In Normandy or Picardy

Thunder rushes to the hills beyond

Topographically, a slave-state.

Yet slivers of the skin remain

Under thumb nails

Locked in splintered wood.

Falling, we hear the drums,

Beyond any horizon,

Out of step, and falling.