Life

Dish

Posted on by Napoleon Dozier

Last dish of the year that was… 

And the soup is a mixed affair much like life. You got your meat and your fish. Your Okoro and Ogbono. And in there, do I find disillusion swimming in that liquid hope with the greed of my soul? The bitter with reason outdreamed by the short lived sweetness, conscripted into the war of hearts, I’ve tasted the best and worst of it. Yet still, the seasoning dresses up our fate, masked for the ball of confusion we perspire on. Keeping the secret hidden inside out of the pot and expositioning the plot would be one heaven of a ride out to sunrise.

Saturday

Posted on by Napoleon Dozier

Saturday on the lowly with Ketchup and other life accessories. Blossoming nights chitter chatter away, and our sky will reckon with us if we stay up on it. When she comes. She goes. And where he leads, she follows through with her lightness of touch, an iris torch to paint the saturated night of his tribulations into the green and grey of her becoming.

Nature

Posted on by Napoleon Dozier

I conceived you in my heart. Nine months was nine lives riding on an eternity that was nurtured in us. Seven times before I went for mine, to spin jewellery and the world, and your head is gone. Half the time between the world and you. You thought it was. You. And I. The World is yours. Don’t lose your heart. Again.

Barber

Posted on by Napoleon Dozier

Cutting in. You want out. Got off the chair, and you’ve been racing to the start. It was never yours to own. A fault like a bone, you were never theirs to scorn. Just backed up in decisions and the barb is a wheel to the wire. Closest shave was the kindness for his kind. Yours in kind and candid to the skin that a blade would kiss.

Wounds & Things

Posted on by Napoleon Dozier

Crying skies can’t hide from the sight of bredrin’s backfaced accusations played with the mute. Shift work. You got all the baggage in the skin hanging off her lies. Do you know how the thief negotiates for the crimson kiss before closing time?

I’ll tell you a secret. An open heart dies before it learns to close its eyes. For bad. And lives before it overstands to keep you out of mind, folded and tucked away from the words she didn’t keep. You were right and wrong to not keep her broken jar of sugar and fantasy. Empty words. Selfish belongs in the ocean with them and other strings, wounds and things of unknown possibilities. She goes this way. You go that way. Out of hers. Closed. For good.

Banker

Posted on by Napoleon Dozier

Where to. Going. Expediently. 

Where from. Coming. Cosmological. 

Where now. Owing. Everytime you leave is a return. 

A banker. Loaning a teller. Waiting at a table. Tailor is sacred as cloth talk for dress made face time. 

Savage. 

Time lives rent free. And richer still than a free man who is owned by home. Running to pay for permission to live by licence. 

Lawful. Unwedded bride taken by the L. Lawfully cold to a touch. 

Found. Racing to die by returning the favour.

Pleasing is the plated tongue. Golden. You’ll house me and the thighs that spread like the gut of a gluton. 

A believer. Till undone. All lives in a sentence to command the fool to stop. Landing is not the feat. Foot in arms, not so fast, I’ll be on time when you get there. 

Here. Is fortune. Lost. For certain and unsentimental.

Curl

Posted on by Napoleon Dozier

The streets are paved with prophecies. The lost and unclaimed find it, are housed by it, they pick at it, and bend to it, they laugh while they tend to it, no cry while they are gamed by it.

Whispers curl at corners, straight through they run to you. Have mercy when they wake from side to front of cue. The time they spent asleep was all they owned. The ball finds six holes to fill with dreams, whip creamed, the lies always sound new.

Okumu

Posted on by Napoleon Dozier

Girth of heart, the might of his pluck and slide. David is Goliath with a copper axe. Tenderly. Soft kill and no reprieve, he will find that note. The invisible is ironic, if you stay low down, you orbit the Okumu gravity. Felt it too. Knee deep. Twisted. Heads up. Watch out. The hope is thick in the mix, running with the Mice of mankind, who own acres of imagination, fumbling the dream. Play on the side.

Derelict

Posted on by Napoleon Dozier

Signs as I crossed my heart. Eyes have held up the world. A dereliction of duty. They should have been watching you. As I do. Only seeing. Always open to seeing you. Through. Getting out of the way of the lens. Losing only the focus just a moment before the flash catches hold of you. And why do you look at me instead of the lens that designs an impression of something you might not yet be? Or do you see me as the lens that is too close to know your secrets, but too far to not be curious about who you might be?