by Tolu Oloruntoba
for Anthony Bourdain
This neural mesh, the coral brain of sads, knows
when another of us is sunk. Some speak of Grey Goo,
the mitotic mush that will eat the world. It already
has, and the Sertraline suds of our sewers
have not washed away
the denticulate scum, the flocculant armor, the rafted pleas of the river
Sentence the hanging trees, too, to death, then. It is only right,
to pulp their flesh, and char the ink-ed scroll. It is only right
to trace the unravelling of silicon, rappelling up the beach,
wicking an in-finite
Settle the shelf, then, let’s.
The reef calls our skeletons as symbiote schools
nibble them clean. Human bones
make for terrific daggers. Castoff the land,
our accreting forest, our limestone spears, our stalagmite lunges,
our congress can pierce the belly
of a continent.
Note: The line “Human bones make for terrific daggers” is the title
of a Newsweek article concerning anthropological studies of
New Guinea daggers.