Leaning my rage on still air


Hardly a well-tuned song
for the party of social climbers;
dust, air and shadow by cone open
sea waves that nosedive to relate
the features of my flesh ticking to decay.
I’m filled with the soul to always call
for the past’s little morsel to restore
the present that has vaporised.
Another evil space
sends a little ash to face me,
to accuse me,
to stay on my skin wrinkled by aging,
leaning my rage on still air.
Editor: Obinna Eruchie

Merry get-togethers from Alcatraz (Zina)


Who can kill the one who looks
a lot like the other one
at don Quixote armour
loneliness is how it is

Praised be otherness of others!

Test the final stroke
especially if effective
observe the infinite weakness of the rest
rundown old barrels

They look just like the other ones.
I used to live in
the gun of a gaggle of snakes
in the heart of the tulips

Do not obsess over the minute details
up until that point as strong as a megalith
and the crown mockery of time
is my witness to this,

brackish bamboo and poor slave woman Zina*,
raving, rabid, she – the black spaz
merry get-togethers,
oh, how we drank at those gatherings…

To each breath of a justified EW!
the invisible mirror kept filling up
with a full reflection of an enraged tiger.
I contain myself.

Fears flew
through space the bestiary
a pipe player did a ditty
in the background.

The music cried out, sad.
no place for a walk
with endless noise of possibility
a little more impossibilities and

Morbid, the liquid tulips
scream laughing as they drop
and crabs come out of their throats.
One madminge less
Gone! Poof! The Alcatraz document!

Author’s note: