A MAN’S BORDERLINE TO OVERCOMING LONELINESS
by Oluwadare Popoola
there is familiarity,
a twinkle in our eyes for unknown places
that beg a birdsong to settle
for one of milky eyes or murderous ears.
a chalice or wine.
I don’t think I know the crevices of insanity well,
but it sure looks like a jagged muscle
from a mouth tilted in the position of a rig-saw.
you leave the ninety-nine
and come after my body,
measuring slabs of it with your eyes,
resectioning its tissues with your teeth,
cooking it with spices from the internet.
& then you see
that you have cooked up a ghost.
it’s a white coat carrying rashes,
something you call letters
or a relic of it
that soon becomes songs.
you bathe them in your spittle
and give them a home in photographs
or tie them to a group of wintering bluebirds
and in electronic papers that are all apparitions.
calories wasting & eyes singeing.
you go to the kitchen to search for lost energy,
sleep and dream that I became your neighbour
and woke up to ninety-nine retweets.
Source: From the Isolation Issue (September 2020)
A MAN'S BORDERLINE TO OVERCOMING LONELINESS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
OLÚWÁDÁRE PÓPÓỌLA is a poet or so he thinks, a student of Microbiology and a Sportswriter for a media company. He writes from a city by the rocks and longs to see the world without discrimination of any form. He is learning how images are made from words and his poems are up/forthcoming on Mineral Lit. Magazine, Headline Poetry & Press, Feral: A Journal of Poetry & Art and ang(st)zine.
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