Kofi Fosu Forson, Summer 2017

If Garbo fell…


Tell the boys in the basement I’m marching off with you
We are going to paint pictures of people falling down
If death found us buried under the books of tomorrow
What will Tuesday bring?
These men watch with their hearts broken and in love
Desire is a word but so is contempt
Among those who bash heads in ours is ink: bloodless
Fight them off with your boxer’s stance
Stand the little giant plain-Jane-chique southern blonde
Their Oscar Wilde eyes are watching
Little Red Riding Hood I am here if the walls should rape
Come knock on my door Come let us walk the floor
Gathering among wheat and water this early morning

How would they know if we folded onto bed?
Rumors fall from these bestsellers and paperbacks
Why then should we kiss make music of this?
Not when our minds draw a perfect circle
Love within these letters spill across the aisles
We collect them baskets woven with humor
Sit before me damsel wearing an autumn dress
For you with breath I carve dream mold shape
Listen as I read these words victims from my closet
They rest tip of tongue pop from lip filling the air

Return again on a night that resembles Garbo
Tortured white weather overcoming us your grace
Like Hollywood Hills during the 70’s we lounge
Lost aspiring actress Svengali our Polaroid faces
Pose nude for me then looking at you star lit
Lie before my couch Klimt the palest of skin
Drink me in this cranberry gin put to sin our sex
You cried for Jim was I criminal did I let you down?
On the verge damage I had made what could I say
You wanted me so bad I left you burning fresh as yolk



Jean Michel of Hell


Thinning as the winter was that year
Dry scabs weathered walls Mickey Spillane
House-hold pet tattooed punk Long Island

Drinking 60 ounce beer calling to witches of night
Bring to us Judy of Avenue X motherless daughter
Devilish born to kill slept while they made love

In a black Patricia Fields people come to kiss your feet
You are the Jean Michel of hell

In a black Patricia Fields the world will wait at your door
You are the Jean Michel of hell

Snow white in pearls face like Kinski lust at first sight
Painted the floors with black heels Munich madam
Moon creature Jezebel tempting the hearts of men

Cadaver I stood born a victim her blood shot eyes
Lipstick creased into skin eye-lashes tarantula
Karma-crush egg yolk dripping fingers forming fist

In black Christian Dior she would come to wish me amour
I am the Jean Michel of hell

In a black Christian Dior she held a flower wanting me more
I am the Jean Michel of hell

Novotel where lovers go to die
We hung our flesh from ceiling to curtain

Murder me rose to petal
Pull with claws fangs from teeth

Grope this figure of David
Lose my tongue in mouth

I loved you:
Decent into infidelity

You broke me:
Prince of darkness, Prince of light




Kofi Fosu Forson has written and directed plays for the Riant Theater. His collaborations include Gender, Space, Art and Architecture, a video project, Liverpool, England and Dismember the Night, thread poetry and photography project, Tribes Gallery, NYC. As writer and poet he has published with Three Rooms Press and Great Weather for Media. As performer he has participated in productions of What the Hell is Love? and The Loser Project at Cornelia Street Café. He currently writes for Whitehot Magazine and Gainsayer.

Promote. Poetry.
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