I don’t have enough of myself to confront living.
So I let grief have its way, Piling regrets where a heart should be.
The sun is licking on souls, again.
And I hand over mine like a coin too rusted to cast a glint.
May this poem, like God, suck the pus off my sores and clot these wounds.
May every prayer I throw towards God not end up wing-to-wing with the wind,
Bringing down cold where miracles are expected.
In every garden, I pick up the pace when a bird calls. No one knows what the trumpet in heaven sounds like.
Again, the moon is gathering her children, those little flicks of souls lighting up the sky and in my house, I sniff out every lamp selling me out to the halo of death.
Origami II // or the boy with the issue of blood IV
This body is beautiful; depending on where you keep your eyes.
The trust I have for shadows, the way they tailor transgressions into brims;
sometimes, I putrefy into a shadow & run behind every boy my age.
I long after everything paper; my hands rattling with [re]creation.
My wounds clotting/clothing into a scar of silence.
Permit me this flaw, I start into a thing and leave halfway; sailed out of a womb severing my umbilical anchor.
I was in a murmuration once, flapping my wings into every projectile of family & fame.
Oh lord, do you mean I don’t get my cut in your covenant till I
finger-count the stars?
I cite Abraham under a sky of infant stars.
Enotor Prosper is a drummer. He’s from Benin, Nigeria. His poems and short stories have appeared/forthcoming in Ecotheo Review, Ethelzine, Elephantsnever, Praxis Magazine, Pencillite, Young African Poets Anthology(Brittle Paper), U-RIGHTS MAGAZINE and elsewhere. He tutored/is tutoring in Test House tutorials (G.brains), Solid Education Centre, Starbrains Tutorials, Premiere Lectures and elsewhere. Say,”hi” on Twitter @NezyorNezy