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Black Magic
I will stand, stinking of horses and bulls A black body in your clean room. I will stand in chains Shaking with the noise of battle Still ringing in my bones. I will stand behind and wait Unavoidable. Invisible. Ready to serve you With nothing.
I will be an uncomfortable silence Around your table. While the food you eat turns to mud. I will be your snigger, your chink The paki in your galley. I will be the dung in your gallery The bones of your china Scrutinised. Inscrutable.
I will be a shadow in your white room. A dark continent in your icy waste. I will be the bruise on your skin, The black eye Like a toad in your milk.
I will be the voodoo doll All ribbons and earth In your surgeon’s sterile theatre. I will be the first house The Ka’ba in your Cathedral. I will be the lead in your coffers The alchemist’s crucible, Left burnt and cooling An embarrassment in Newton’s study.
I will be the edge in your plane. The blindness in your wit. Your ultraviolet catastrophe. A black spot.
I will hold you a prisoner Outside the prison you have built While I swim in darkness.
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Present
I come to you with nothing And leave you with less.
I come in rags and bones Dressed in a tissue of lives
I wait at your door with an invitation To come out and take the air with me.
I ask only for giveness Give only space And the falling through it.
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