Catch The Sun Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Catch a ray of sun
and make it your gun.
Shoot your bed
with the ray, an etched

round floating sun's
cotton ball dancing
in your fattened head.

Grab a piece of sun
splashed into shredded cotton
to heal an old wound
bursting with pus

only a flashy
handkerchief
from sun's oversized
mouth strokes and hugs,

a boarding zephyr
sailing with a dappling gauze
to burn off
an old cloud hanging

from the roof of memory
in fire and flowers,
a turaco dribbling past
a lion's beaming mane.

(ii)

And leaves the sun
master of daylight's night

sootier than the bowels
of an old crater - crawling
in evil's tunnel,

no exit yawning out
tawny night into raining sun.

It's raining arrows
and thin spikes of missiles,

as a bag of sun
darkened by too many pins
of brightness stick.

The sun shines crystals
and aluminum shreds
unfolding in columns of landing
trumpets, rays' mouths

ringing bells into the ears
of a light-drunk hibiscus
bowing out of life.

(iii)

It is raining suns and ovens,
every lump of sun
sinking into leaking pockets
from hanging pants,

a man on a beach bench,
carving out a signature

on a check book to be read
with stapled loops
to tug down wings on every word.

At the cashier's desk
in the Everlasting hands of sun,

waterfalls of rain
will be drunk by cascades of sun,
absolving bells ringing loudest.