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May 22, 2020 Poetry


Hadiyyah Kuma

Pop photo

If I forget to night shift my mac it’s tragic


How the eyes rebel iris plus graphics

It’s a Sunday night and I’ve already

Experienced of dread’s fine hues

Colours run stiff like a

Billboard in my stomach: DON’T WAIT

But who to call?

Once I looked for you and found a splinter

Not mine, somebody else

Once I looted a gas station and exited with

Nozzles for hands

You can always do it you know

At any given time you can do crime  

You can write a poem in your head

I sprayed a sunset on a pile of bricks

I can do anything you want

In theory

I wonder where Toronto’s cough comes from

My air went viral and somebody bottled it

That’s plagiarism

That’s every ism at attention  

That’s why I’ve failed to be in love at every opportunity

The world’s a balloon and can’t quite grasp its own glib body

Example, Christmas songs on my Spotify friend activity

They’re not really for me

Every feeling’s nylon hot-purple as soon you reach

Look for it, can you touch it, slide it away

Good for Christmas if it’s unconditionally loved

Good for the man who’s back can raise the world

He’s definitely sleeping sound while we tumble over each other

In these half-hearted rubber bouncy castles

So I stopped wondering stopped wandering

No birthdays necessary

Took myself to the bathroom light and found my arms

Squeezed my finger until it squirted out blue

Nobody was there, no foreign object received me

My left hand called my right and they danced together while

I watched from the corner of bedroom

I was itchy

I used my nose to stop the hope from outrunning me



image: Aaron Burch