I unfold at every self- returning I      baptize my bones
Into new orders of chills. Cold fire in my belly.


I build my name in silent quavers until
It fills my mouth in cold smoke. And I can laugh at my glitches.
I chuckle at vicarious thrill      watching dormant imagination
Unwind the distance      between my bed and cold curtains.


I am inured
To this weakness because I feel the more I am a subject, the more I am
A step away to strength. I borrow music as ammunition for my battles. Music
Doesn’t shoot.


I ensure that the river is ready for burnt tears collected into jar.
I ensure that the river is ready for quest. For sufficiency. For broken reflections
On rippling motifs.


I’m fishing out myself, myself.
Don’t call me back.

Goodness Olanrewaju Ayoola is a Nigerian poet and teacher of English who reaches out to poetry as escapism from the contentions within and around him. His poetry has appeared in Glass, Dust Poetry, Pangolin Review, Oddball Magazine, Mobius, Ethel Zine and elsewhere. He is a Best of the Net Award Nominee and author of Meditations (WRR, 2016). Say hi to him on Twitter @GoodnessLanre