Chaos at the three cemetery gates,
movement all along the Niger River

in the underworld the shadow that waits
shadow in the marketplace the Sister

of 9 her whirling skirts Black Madonna
jabbing the spur of arousal into

the side of the cock’s offense grave lingua
that drew me near the grave I’m with Wilde’s crew

boys of black and blue their DJ’s love lost
for my Oya, goddess and tribe, my Miss

Candelaria; Miss Thang at three gates. Let rocks
sleep, they make you star-crossed; all you lost

in the blue Sister-Brother, please dismiss
this child, this sad post-colonial fox.