Moon Slips Off A Poet's Sky Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

The man rides
on days spinning
gold fish
relics in flames,

only the rust
of soft sneezes
hanging in,

when times drive
empty snail
shells, broken specks

licked by fading
zephyrs and still air.

On a horizon
split from thick blankets
and light sheets
of sea waves,
he rides strings of slugs
slamming on brakes,

when feathers
of wind on punctured
tires swoosh out

into mist breaking
a winter smoke
of snow into thick
fog in a burning head.

Rolling with a candle
flame melting a star
breaking into the flickers
of a cigarette chew,

when a splash
of moon falls on a bleached
sheet burning
a piece of silence

to churn and spill
breezes rolling
on the wheels of times
floating embers

and smoke of a poem
that wore no rattling
clothes amid
whistled chirps of night.

(ii)

On a sheet of paper
spilling no afterfeathers
from the tail
of a poem lost to a storm

of flying squiggles
with clipped wings,

a bird dives
into a mist bouncing
off a tower,
the mouth of a snailing
nib strolling

on a fallow piece of paper
too white to grow
grass on a nebula
from a splayed moon

and drizzles of stars
until the moon is spread
intoa cracked
crystal tray of sun,

when a rumbling volcano
of night spits out
dawn on a blotched black sheet,
a ceiling tumbling
with an ivory night,

a silver glow losing hue
to a hollow tray.