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.Loving you
Is a sinking ship
And as I bail water out
You pour bucket after bucket
Right back in
.

.It won't be long now till we're treading water.
Our love is a given.
Precise! Succinct! Intentional And Directional!!
WE speak in one voice and we stick to the rhythm and tone of our voices.
Our voice  are devices
Music to dance to and feet to swerve.
Yes! we will swell and swerve to this rhythmic  tunes and turns of our collective voices.
And like David of the Great Book we will dance fearing no nakedness.
This given love will strive Omalicham.
Omalicham is an Igbo language expression to mean my beautiful .
We're ill.
We are not ready,
to See a doctor.
Nigeria need a doctor
For 5,000 years,

people have been dreaming, will --


they ever wake up?
Novel "Midnight's Children" (1981, Salman Rushdie), chapter 2-9 "The Kolynos Kid"

Collection "Low gear"
I was desperately drunk and desperately in love.
    I made promises I couldn't keep. She invited me
    into her garden. I ate forbidden fruit. Nirvana!
    Pains, doubts, anxieties, fears gone instantly.

    The morning after had a sour taste.
    God and priest and nun and catholic world
    collided with our promised land of love.
    We stayed drugged with flesh and defiance.

    Pregnant, we were married in the Church.
    We had our daughter and a son soon after.
    I wish lust didn't fade with time.
    I wandered and became a cliche.
My heart slips through it's ribbed cage
Falling under yet another set of feet
A familiar stage
A loop on repeat
The same dawn but a new age
Always ample cover-ups at the ready
Cautionary over reactionary
But underneath?
Every single forced receipt
Enraged I scramble to free it,
Ignorant of the gamble
Placed on a vague label
One that won't be held accountable
Broken in every way imaginable
Clearly fragile
Watch it unravel
No finesse
Rage and anger fills the absence
Losing the rhythm of life's presence
Leaving hand in hand with it's unique purpose
Taking notice that this will be the last defeat

©2024
Life can seem like a nightmare
I'm afraid of all of the time
I release my flair in the night air
Noticing all the fear is of the same kind
I more than recognize the familiar glare
The eyes looking back at me are mine
Aware that I'm unaware
Fair or not,
Witness my paradigm

©2024
a soul history is like the caligraphy of dunes
the psyche toiling its dark materials
sketching shadows from imagination
the cabaret of desire contemplating all the wonderful trivial terrible beings you can be. a wave in my mind you are
between the visible and invisible man the wisdom of the shamans

I walk on streets, I see things, I touch hands suffering from imagination deficit disorder. sometimes I have thoughts in reverse
but I cage my heart in this shrine of memory while
I am looking for you dawn by dawn, bird by bird
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