Apparitions with open arms lead
debouchures into spectral aches
& void arches, a heavy dry kiss leans
into this cranium, blooming like a nova
falling like a meteor, I hate when the inside
of my eyes becomes the inside of a wound,
wet, a gleaming discotheque, a district in hell
pockets the fractals of magenta klaxons
I always safeguard my own distrust
—this is no little small thing, nah
this is my father’s masquerade with his chaotic
garb of omniform colours pulling the sun
every colour owns a tooth, each pair of teeth
grabs a pestle, each pair of teeth
gnashes my name, I’m somewhere out
of myself, I’m somewhere floating
past myself in a wilderness that calls me
her bride, the embrace that holds me
is callused with anguish. I witness
in that lucid dye the locus of the struggle
between the quinine and the yellow herb,
mother says all works together for good, I
don’t argue. I drift.
Olumide Manuel
Olumide Manuel’s poetry has been featured on or forthcoming in ARTmosterrific journal, Gigantic Sequins, Frontier Poetry, Feral Poetry, Club Plum Literary Journal, Sublunary Review, Grand Little Things and Twyckenham Notes.
He tweets @Olu_midemanuel.