The science of breath (for the Dutch poet Joop Bersee) I have made mistakes in my life. I’m still paying for that dark interpretation. For them with half-malice and delight. How cold the stars. The heroic damsel in distress. Abyss found in dementia’s shoebox. Abyss found in Dominica. Stars are cold in winter. In summer they begin to warm up. Show their true selves. Goodbye my eyes, my swimming limbs. Let me count the grains of sand with my hands. Let me travel slow then hard and fast in this country. Let me moan about the unfairness of it all. Look here at this surface of flame showing off daylight. Flames licking at desire. Look at this earth-dream that once belonged to the river and then the ocean depth of it. I think of the lungs of London. The slow and deliberate inhale and exhale. The busy Amazon-structure to it. I don’t think that men are safe anymore. Their body language tastes of liver and sinful things. Marechera liked sex once. His body (shimmered) l...