The Body Dies for Every Reason
midway across afternoon, i am buried under a romance novel,
cross-legged & watching the world go on without me.
i have been toying around with a suicide note,
the location for draining the entirety of my spirit.
what do i call my shadow fading away delicately
or the relationship i build with the tip of a knife?
i have death coming up from my nostrils,
each passing second is a modeled departure.
there is nothing new about a cemetery,
i have each name stored in mental drawer,
& often times there is a tone of absence when the bodies speak,
softly numbing the words before they leave this mouth.
I pronounce my name in the manner of matchsticks,
aglow with soul until winds kiss you in advance
for your trip to where human voices never touch.
i am always heavy with life's violence,
each breath is a renewed faith in burning.
allow me show you the route to becoming a fireplace,
or do you want firestorms coming home to you every night?
I hold no water in my mouth when i call myself a province of doom,
today & other unborn days are ghosts swarming around here.
each portion of this body is a word i do not explain,
because you know where a fire goes after raging hard.
Nigerian-based Michael Akuchie is a poet and dreamer. His works have appeared on Barren Magazine, peculiars magazine, Euonia Review, Vagabond City Lit Mag, Kalahari Review& elsewhere. He currently studies English at the University of Benin, Nigeria. He is Contributing Editor for Barren Magazine.