Rigorous
Volume Four, Issue 2



Fleur Lyamuya Beaupert


Luxuriant

They stop me
because my passport
looks weird.

One cries: This is nothing to do with race, religion or nationality!

I reply calmly: It accidentally went through the washing.

They laugh: She doesn’t look like a terrorist.

To me they say: Your skin is a mystery we can solve –

Egypt, India, Somalia, Greece, Nigeria, Italy, Palestine, Pacific Islands, Mauritius, Cuba –

negativo –

light area appearing dark / dark area appearing light.

They stamp my skin,
tell me to write
about the stamp.

It will do you good,
they say.

Others call me –

sister, cousine / sister, cousin.

In Parisian streets I tell them
I am not their kitchen,
visit art galleries,
take photos,
linger in extreme positive space.

Later I write them: Yes, please, I’ll take Guadeloupe.




Aftershock

it is freezing


in summer

 

with so many sorrys


                              stuck in our throats


where wings meet torso                                                the rhythm of smiles increases

            the zebra is crossing
               all the windows sh-                       (h)atter / someone’s head
                  is shaved by a bullet                                            on New Year’s Eve

                     as my wings                                     approach earlier memo
           ries of                                                                                    silent worlds
        playing through earphones
     they start to sing / exposing raw                                           answering (future)
machine
                                   like my name                                                                                   is lover






and I’m not scared to say it




Supra Tablet

this tablet halved quartered
low dose hi dose

make me queasy
make me sleepy

when you say my name like that
eyelids flutter slow, low

can’t sleep without them drugs
must be addicted

doctor says they’re obviously supra
indicated – stars erupt

result in perfricative starlet parable
or spittle stream tale (subtle plateau)

pulse of petal palate
apt test, sure!




Tarantella, Reconstructed – B

rains                                                             achi
ng territory
 
 
 

into
bodies
    eggplant                                                     s /
paces between
 

heart to set
                                 resound
and

hum or the tap’s

iterations
                 people                                into

dazzling
        song and

perceive
                insist / on
being                                     through
                       mmming
 

the ground
                                   canvases
 
rapidly                                         stitching
the tumult

 

Note:
Tarantella (definition in Bruce Moore (ed), The Australian Oxford Dictionary, Oxford University Press, 2nd ed, 2004, p. 1319) “1 a rapid whirling southern Italian dance. 2 the music for this. [ORIGIN: Italian, from TARANTO (because the dance was once thought to be a cure for a tarantula bite): cf. TARANTISM.)”




 

The Sky
Cannot
Turn Away



her talk
fizzes
and her
hair
curves
Elvis
style
over
her


forehead
and
sometimes
her
mouth
curves
down
see
       and

when
I open
their text
breathing
stops
itself




until


she
escaped
my

glances
her
e yes
opening
into
       curves
       gentle
back
she

looked
me up
and
down
made me
feel
       Elv
is
he

the book
offering
the net
plummets
to
ground

gasping
sometimes
her talk
is
slightly
smiling
and
somehow

unheard
soundtrack
overtakes
their
pressing

a
grimace
she
is often
fierce
and he
is
somehow

    mouth
    firmly







curves
    against
steel
pressing

against
my
surfaces

inside
my gut
stretchy
see my
flash
always
propelling


eyes      her
talk

 


like

opened
his
arches
her talk
is
continents
shifting
slowly
into
one
        another
        en
intent
away
her
sun
hair
brushes
skin
we
collide


turns to
rubber
shifting
two
texts
(into) me
always
two
slowly

he

keeps me
wanting

way

their
lovin’
        looking
        into
light


subcons
cious plans
materialise
before
or after

h ey
yes


livin’
flows

skin
sound

that way


gorgeous



burning




quiver



Fleur Lyamuya Beaupert: "I am a queer, Mad writer and researcher of Tanzanian and Anglo-Indian descent. I live in Sydney, Australia, where I work in the disability advocacy sector. My work appears, or is forthcoming, in Social Alternatives, Scum, Meniscus, Verity La, Alternative Law Journal and Sydney Law Review, among others."




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