yesterday, we revved our votes in the name of our
choices
with metaphor of competence clinging on our
thumbs.
no bribe- no fight & we chased tribe’s affliction &
tribulations
for they’re another metaphor of dark repetition.
fairness and justice flowered the teeth
of what our heroes tongued before their last breath
as we heart, we face, we mind, we tongue our votes
and beget the gods on the epistle of our hopes in
peace
submitting our voices to the shrine of free & fair
justice
to throne our universe with the gods we sketched
on the heart of our votes.
“upon the tapestry of our skin, this strain
draws stretchmark of grief— pelumi adesiyan
this poem voyage into the universe I met grief
& death unifying my sisters into dresses, they
polished their teeths & wrinkle the fragments
of their broken smiles on their burnt faces. say—
this poem birthed my father in the constitution
of footslogging grief, speaking scars, bause this
poem deform to umbilical ashes fireflies from the
universe, i comb the strands of my grandfather’s
beards on the tooth of death. perhaps this poem
is a victim of grief & perhaps even the butterflies’
fireflies a dole from the genesis of grief. & that’s
to say the gods are metaphors to all that multiply
the echoes of bones, from the tapestry of our broken
heart, splits in thousands films I watched to morph
into the beginning of other firing loopholes;
in one my father is a dead drunk, poemifying a report
on how the wind took away tractors from the field
he built his hell, in another my brother built a stone—
heart in the presence of god, yet he find soliloquy,
partying with blood on his cheeks. in another
& another & another or the other films we keep
knocking the gate of death with. a piston shaped like
my little brother’s penny, ragging on our head.
In fact my brother led them to grove cottage(s) in
our graves. in fact, this time, with our cracked souls,
we footslogged into the palms of god.
