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Kikwit 

The army decree flutters on posts
shrieking like stuck doves
None in! None out!
yet the groggy stevedores still assemble 
on the wharf, setting off curlicues of smoke 
from red-ember fists

Ekimi sits to himself
snaking hands over, through
one, then the next
Turk's Head Knot, Alpine Butterfly Bend
Monkey's Fist Hitch 
the cryptomancy of sailors
where all cataclysm and heavy weather 
can be solved by the correct sequence of knots

Kikwit examines itself for bleeding
women and men liquefied through the night
are carted one, then the next
into shanties with black X'd doors
Once a songfrenzied port
Kikwit now staggers agonized into the world
preens, expectantly 
throwing eyes down the river
waiting to die

 

Passage To Kinshasa

Is this boat going to Kinshasa?
her voice is a broken storm
The captain completes another:
the Surgeon's Knot 
He pauses the length of two 
contaminated breaths
before collapsing the rope 
through his fingertips

He doesn't need to look up
he already knows about her
eyes insomniac black and furious
her tunic a damp scarlet oriflamme
For a few days he's seen her by the quay
tirelessly sopping eyelids shut
when their innards turned to paste
giving out entirely everywhere
in all-consuming charity

Morning, water boils before the bow
an asp on a goldsmith's anvil
uncoiling away from this miasmal mirage
over, through, again 
his hands incant the Surgeon's Knot
falls apart as quick as everything 
here, a broken storm through his fingers
and his whisper, it is
it is now