Eyeblink Star Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

A star grows
into a comet
hotter than
the kissing mouth

that devours
love's flesh,
leaving only bones

to stick out
like weevilled stalks
and dry twigs

in a bush
with more room
to dig and scoop

and thresh out
broken
and withered stems

and hanging leaves
leaning
on a storm's back.

When did
the sun last stick
out its head,
as it rained through

herringbone
weaves of a cloudy
sky stiff
like a bleached
blackboard,

tossing over sheets
of lace scribbles
from a swinging
flipchart.

(ii)

Spinning a world
of birds touching
down on folk's clean-
shaven heads

under windmills
of broad-armed tree
branches carving
out nooks

for the inner bowl
spinning puffs
and breezes through

wild thorny
grasses and ant-
riddled crawling vines
amid croaking
shrubs brewing

more clouds
to cruise off
to a buzzing sky,
gold bees splashed
off in raindrops

full of biting wasps
and no nectar
from air's beehive
buzzing with drizzles

that heat up
and swell
into graphite
downpours,

a stroking hand
fleeing
into a silver
forest of drizzles

and piercing
arrows of rain.

Full night drifts in
like a raven
curtain flapping
only the onyx

wings of a bloated sky
that has devoured
the only lone star

melting
into its flight,
other sparks

dissolving
into a hollow,
stroking breezes lost.