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.