We do not need an intense
Courtroom drama to let me go.
Let me fall to the ground
Through Gravity’s fingers,
Like slippery China.
So much for favourite crockery
Rendered imperfect by factory errors,
We do not need physical contact
To let me go.
A keypad and Internet Subscription
Make it cold, inert.
I choose to let you go.
Leave the memories in the incinerator;
Draw a long bath and let your robe go.
Do it slow.
I will not need a fresh hankie
For sclerosed tear ducts.
That knife will not pinch through
The Titanium shield over my rib cage.
But cold words will.
The above poem is culled from Clinical Blues which can purchased here and here.
Visual credits: Aderemi Adegbite
Cinemagraph: Graeme Arendse
sterilised entities Mr Ajayi,
we all do rituals