I write you a poem     Ade     it grows teeth

     many teeth & turn them enter me. Like

skid marks     I run from the wound causing

mayhem along the causeway of my mind.

Who think say words go grow     heavy like

wet woolens? Who think say a poet go

stutter     perish deliberate attempts at rhyme

& rhythm? Grief fit bear the weight of music?

Paper fit carry the thirst for my veins     to

comb your face with eyelash     wash your hair

with hand     listen to every gospel     every

psalm from your heart? I carry inside me a

hollow trunk     eaten by worms & termites;

empty     I wander every memory. I write the

poem from remembering & it draw blood

     soak fingers with rust & when the tears

patter my paper offering     I perceive burning

ash—the goodbye we didn’t think of & if

friendship is love     I loved you less     more

     you loved me & I’m sorry I didn’t call.

Osahon Oka is a poet of Bini/Kwale descent, living in Nigeria. He enjoys solitude, a good book, coffee and cloud watching. He holds a BA in English and Literary Studies. A Best of the Net nominee, his work has appeared and is forthcoming on Feral Journal, Down River Road Review, Lit Quarterly, Ghost Heart Lit and elsewhere. He is the Review Correspondent at Praxis Magazine. He can be reached on Twitter: @osahonoka.