Untitled #201 [Draft of an idea…her]

She was more than that…
More than a dirty idea
Of flirty thoughts, which certainly
Aroused every time she was near;
She was an occupation, a total
Consumption, a hurricane of emotions
A harbinger of chaos—a conjurer of love…she//
Well, was black matter—everywhere and nowhere//
She's the space in between stars
The breath of the oceans
She was missing like a hole
Inside a Japanese token
Yet every time she passed me by
I was a bit on the far side of things//
Every poem imagined of her made her
The ink excreting my complexities
Giving birth to wordless things
Which is why every time she is near
She only gets to witness my secret
My illness—abulia//
So she’ll never hear all the poems
This now deaf poet has imagined,
Scripted and stuffed back in his dome
In self-mutilation only to memorize the oracular
emotions in efforts to impress her,
woo her—at least//
To recognize, well, me standing here
Seeing her for who she is and not for what she thinks…

©2012 Tshombe Sekou

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