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There is uproar at the back// of this poem //which = i am a roaring chariot//= there is a tragedy// in this prologue //

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This story begins from a place of bloodlustgave my body to a butterfly or she gave// her body to me// an agreement sparkled with a matchstick// affection first prayed into a candle//then into an inferno/into the cracks of burninggot a call from a butterfly// said i’m an incomplete thing/ which = i am. . .an unanswered prayer

a. . .a Nigerian boy//still a sheep // still a Lazarus// which =i am broken//as dawn// i am no fuck boy// which = i love so much     mistake it for lust// which = I am a panther// which = i stay up// all night to count my scars

\\i  a m  r e c o n s i d e r i n g  l o v i n g  a g a i n//

my father calls asks// if i am fine if my fingers still know// how to wheel my rosary bead// asks about studies// the bird in my voice is wet beaten// the voice// on the phone// is a parrot of pretense// which = dear father is a wounded tiger// he too still stays up// to sob into the ghost of my mother in silence// no// in strained sighswhen next you see me know// i am an ocean//mistake me not for the Red Sea//

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I am not counting on my past// which = i have swallowed too much// of people //which = people have taken too much// from me // poor poor river

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I am a beautiful boar// magnificent in myself// which = no one no one// knows my violence or my vacuum//which = i am whole i am sky// which = i am a star folded in its sparkle//

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There is a eulogy in this epilogue// which = this poem ends in a place of self-love// which = the poet as a self-portrait of a lone midnight star

Nome, Emeka Patrick is a Nigerian artist who writes from a room close to banana trees and bird songs. He is an undergraduate in the University of Benin, Nigeria.