It’s the same old lover

In the beginning,

there was

Art.

And then, there was life.

 

A crude

washed-up picture

made in some dingy, dark room.

 

I cried. I yelled.

My voice resounding my ears

my body vibrating like a tuning fork.

 

Toilet paper rolled out

on the floor

Old cosmetics

chucked in the bin

A swarm of bees

and the KFC bucket.

This grief has suckled the life

out of me. A birth-giving mother

that bashed her infant’s head

on the black stone

 

It’s a river that flows;

along the village

dark and murky

from the factories

spewing death.

 

Flag, sickles and loud noises

Applause and swatting of flies

More the anger grows,

bigger my penis shows.

 

Aside in a corner

drooling on the pages

I lie- waking

in the middle of night

checking if the pages were filled.

 

The calm night

has a breeze,

has a tone,

of a lover.

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