December 3, 2018by Dami Ajayi

Tuesday Poem by Tobi Alàáká

the morning already always is heavy with grey and eye on a prowl

i can live with ants and chatter
and rivulets skirting my brows

and with my bare feet on slime
and my mouth saline
and my body coiled with loathing in room thirty seven
where i am not one nor other

i can live on
devoid of my name
or my face
or of my memory
or a trace…
or only still
as a statistic dipping the wave

i can still try.
but who can survive, officer, mornings already always heavy with grey