Doubly Contrite Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Sun, filter me out.
In the creeping breeze
crocheting me
into a latticed cloud

before it thunders
and storms
with a loose waterfall

from a stuttering
mouth flushing out
more sooty drizzles

and earth-digging,
mud-splashing rain.

O cleanse me
through and through
of all slime,
all flying, wheezing crud

and quiet grime, fumes
churned in grease
and smut stuck

to an umber speck
devoured
by a graphite cloud.

O wet rag of me
in smog,
spit out quietly

and sneeze
out dust-coated
cloudy drizzles

and muck, smidgens

of a red hue
carrying
bloody blisters.

And sludge. And dust
from spirals of storm.

(ii)

O funnel me
into narrow-necked
chalices and bowls.

At a breeze's altar
draped in daisy
and cream sheets,

the river of a day
burnt off beyond
the creeks
of crabs creeping

with my grime
and sprayed slime
of oozing
slurs and swallowed
sulk and venom.

(iii)

O moon over
my melting pitch
cloud
of trespasses

standing
on the shoulders
of a soldier
planted
into his boots.

Flail out these
weeviled
seeds of me
into flooded culverts
and deep swift

drainage pipes
running
into a tank's tower

of sin, flushing out
onyx sin
with its burnt blades

through a chimney
bubbling
and muttering
out my trespasses

across life's narrow
gates and tunnels.

And I'll be clean
by the shooting flame
of a rising

laceleaf petal
still pulling in bees.