PREHISTORIC

FISAYO ADEYEYE

 
 

I know my problem.              When I enter a room

I am always looking for the door.            I stiletto

into ice.        I open every grave.     I speak honey

-lace,   lattice.      When I’m here,        I’m knotted

gardenias,      a black hex.        A dinosaur flexing

its tail   feathers.         Fever with a body stitched

inside.                 Here, semicolon.                Here,

semicolon. There,    semicolon.           This is how

the night steals                my silhouette.     A pair

of wrists. A god of flood                 and porcelain.

Listen to that hum.       In this one,    I’m unloved.

My mouth sticky.   A string of teeth,    salt pearls.

A theft of flowers     pushing up in the front yard.

 
 

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