Aremu Adams Adebisi

A poem with a matrimonial bed

I hate it when my poem flings me like a waif
and I have just given it, you know, a lush treat.

The synthesis of panjandrums, twittering sound
of paid flesh, corsetted curves, flecked pudenda,

and the in-house experience of fucking an ingenue,
with an eye for the insane and the louche, all splayed

over his imageries, irritate him. My poem grunted
I brought some girls to his house unannounced, ate

the void on what?— ‘his matrimonial bed’! But I had
just fixed your broke ass, Oblivion. I made you

out of void, out of dust, hallucination, soliloquy,
name it, Oblivion; name it! My sculptor-hands

still ring of mud I plastered your frame with.
But this is what you get when your poem is used 

to grief to have considered luxury a phenomenon
of the rich. Silky and cashmere feel of life’s carcass, 

responsiveness to the pearling normatives of breath,
amount to a picayune in his great scheme of things. 

We argue every day on the lodestar, who writes whom,
who scepters the hub of images. Dust-burned skin,

mottled dream, I pity this nature, a glass of myriad
cracks, birthed out of fragments, wrung into whole


Aremu Adams Adebisi is a black poet, author of works inspired by natural vastness. His products are published on Rockvale Review, Brittlepaper, Laurel Magazine, Thirdwednesday Magazine, Barren Magazine, Poetica Magazine, and elsewhere. He seeks to find depth, peace and tranquility in poetry, exploring the concepts of liberation, equality and existentialism. He can be reached on Twitter @aremudamsbisi

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