The Rape of Ukraine

In France they say if the guy penetrates
But does not ejaculate then he did not rape me
Which is exactly like Russia
Penetrating into Ukraine, penetrating into
Georgia and how do you know if Moscow ejaculates?

And the curious sympathy one feels
When feeling with the hand
The naked meat of the body
Poise on the hips, reclining,
Arm-curving and tightening.

And so the armies of those I love
Engirth me and I engirth them
They will not let me off till
I go with them
Respond to them.

But the first real power I ever had
Was when I lined my own womb
With cement
To make a graveyard
For our children.

Obscenely shaken, stirred, mixed, and mashed by Raf Uzar from the minds of June Jordan, Walt Whitman, and Audre Lorde

Darla Darkens the Day

Darla darkens the day
With tales of aborted ideas,
Perverted perception and rusted sex appeal.

Keep me from swirling cocktails,
Omlettes and pink clouds
Of thick liberal hooliganism.

Keep me from smoky canapés,
Sweaty leather armchairs and red mists
Of muzzy rightist rhetoric.

Keep me from spicy emancipation,
Tequila shots and razor-sharp gashes
Of gloating self-assurance.

It took me three whole breaths
To digest the ignorance
That stuck to the inside of her face.

Raf Uzar

How This Will All End

Tickling in masks
Past perfect, post haste
Wishing a kiss to
Empower cracked lips.

Yet I angrily stare at
Maskless stragglers
Youthful faces bare
Proudly naked rebels.

Citing digital cyphers
Of being well
Forced smiles
Of mental pretence.

Yet shard-like wrath
Pierces my covered complexion
Masking my contorted
Frustration.

Pausing and waiting
Untouching spotless steps
Phantom amongst phantoms
Ghost amongst ghosts.

Yet when it passes
Our invisibility will remain
Shadows floating in rain
Melting away in wet stains

This is the way world ends
This is the way world ends
This is the way world ends
Not with a bang but a whisper.

Raf Uzar

Autumn is…

Two redheads dancing arm in arm
Bristling with jealous empathy
And glowing golden, warm beeches

Honey eyes the colour of autumnul birch
Plead purringly for scraps of connection
As the feral exposes his tame belly

Without, the oak and ash perceive sentience
And the green man stares
Omniscient green eyes, protecting

Raf Uzar

Burst

It approaches from the sea, too small
For thunder and lightning
But ominous as a closed fist
And what it will bring…

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
I bear light shade for the leaves in their noonday dreams.
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
I arise and unbuild it again.

The clouds part revealing a mythology of clouds
assembled in light of earliest birds, an originary
text over water over time, and that without which
the clouds part revealing an apology for clouds.

Dick Allen, Shelley, Timothy Donnelly (irreverently interwoven, interpolated, and re-interpreted by Raf Uzar

Reaching

I reached out with my
Mind
But drew back my right side
Worried
She had no sanitising
Gel

Second time I tried
Willfully
Taxed my mind to
Overcome
The wall that was between
Us

Third time I tried
Regretfully
She sighed and asked me
Why
My love now showed no ultimate
Affection

Final time I tried
Delicately
She pried as to who had
Built
A thwarting wall between
Us

I quickly then replied
While
She furtively eyed the
Screen
That stared blank between our
Faces

Raf Uzar

Minority

If  you press your ear
To my blood’s topography, you’ll hear
My language dying the same way
My father did:
Alone.

I am programmed to this language,
And can only voice my rejection of it
In the same language.
This is the power of diaspora,
The difficulty in finding alternative.

The blood of language moves,
Looping the circuits of the body,
Pulling me in an infinity of directions
Like anxious deer probing their tracks
Worn out by their silent hustle.

Only the wise among us pin
Our ears to the ground,
Listening in hope of catching
The language forming
Like a new world on your tongue.

Franny Choi, Chris Abani, Ginger Ko, Naomi Cohn, Jennifer Rahim (duplicated, confabulated, and extracated by Raf Uzar)

Tohu Bohu

Chaos is the new calm
I look outside and see trees having sex
Chaos in a green light – Tohu Bohu

I’m sorry I’m here and I’m sorry I’m not here
Feeding on the detritus of white goods, laminate floors, and fake recycling
Days like zombies dawdling toward a cliff edge

But we will emerge from hibernation
to ghetto-blasters, consensual media
And permanent celebration

The one reality is the perpetual flow
Chaos of complex systems. Each generation does what it must
Middle age and misanthropy, like famine and religion

Wyn Cooper, David Shapiro, Ruby Robinson, Derek Mahon (converted, perverted and subverted by Raf Uzar)