Posted by: Ron DuBour | July 15, 2017

trauma~by Ayoola Goodness Olanrewaju


 

 

trauma

maybe this is that poem that
begins with a trauma—so if you put your ears
close. the first saying is your folly.

and lord help you and mercy. find wisdom
for the accent of foolishness.

show me first the reason for the procession
of filth. next.
the dark science behind dirty things that glitter in the sun.

life or what do i call you. is this how you
peel and recreate?

folly calls the parade. the world stands
at attention. we look up for a generation of change. but shame.
this dream is kilned in a fire so blur. or the grey is right—

climb the horizon in your sleep. and tell me
what you see:

the lingers of tomorrow.
flowering lewd.
lost in the worship of idols too dull to clean up their dysentery.

why does dysentery or the things dogs do freely on the streets
become the trumpets of recognition? and then.

impotence over importance.

green deadness and continuation.

we modulate the beats of our insanity—and when we
ask for music. we slid in more madness. our legs on
the frenzy stray.

life or what do i call you. is this how you
peel and recreate?

maybe this is the poem that
ends with a trauma— so by tomorrow if you put your
ears close to listen to a world crashing into a future of nothing.

you know who to blame!

Ayoola Goodness ©2017

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