Geyser Of A Wound Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Let no wound
pierce your eyes
with spurts

from a geyser's
rose and scarlet
bubbling red spring.

Shooting sprinkles
into your face
to spray you
with a drawn-out

night hanging
over ashes, cinder
glowing into
a dawn of silver.

And specks of gold
dissolving
into a whiter
cream floating

on your cup
of coffee clothed
in spume

and the froth of your
breezy shore.

(ii)

You've been
carrying
an elephant
of you, weighing

you down
to the floor.

You've been
lifting
heavy clouds
sticking out

buffalo horns
on your sinking
shoulders.

But you must
shoot off
a steady peek

to burn
the wound's
garnet clots

into the bright
vanes
of a meteor's
feathers of light.

(iii)

When spikes
from a wound
grow into
woodpecker
beaks and brads

to prod thick
pithy panels
of your winged
sailing
cerulean ceiling,

silver skies
perched on
on cyan skies.

Shooting out
tines to rake
off withered flowers
and soot,

let no red fiber
of the wound
hang over you.

(iv)

Let no prong
prod your
cerulean skies

into shards landing
in your ditch

after songbirds
have dived out
of moony shades

to keep and stroke
your sun clear

when it is cut off
from red clouds
shot by a geyser.