Because flowers can’t grow without rain,
I flew to Nigeria in July.
I won’t romanticise this for you;
The come-up is something I chased.
In dead dreams, my hope I placed,
and raced with the pace of my desired image
Traced my thoughts to Book 21
and wound beads round my waist.
(Laugh) The sound of futile action
is so much more profound,
when the round shape of the dahlia’s stem blends,
and soaks into the ground –
I had to get on board.
“My friend the clouds won’t last always”
The point was to make me grow.
So when the clouds play their part and go,
Slow, I’ll die – I know