“thingafication of a soul” by Omavi Shukur

your resume, an arid obituary
convulsing in an ivory tower,
unable to provide refuge from
divine assignments ignored.

it reads: he died as he lived, grasping for something
that was not there. your title, an epigraph
festooned with scar tissue, paperwork confetti
falling like leaves on a youthful wasteland. remember?

falling to where light is anathema to bottom feeders
on the prowl, pedaling some shiny, newfangled
privilege. did you bid your soul farewell or were you
too busy tending to hunger pangs?

(in your defense, some of them
were real)

you started pushin fairytales to oligarchs, just so
they could loosen the chains, just so you could
breath, just so you could return to a home
ravaged in your wake. now you search for

someone whose name you forgot. old heads
imploring you to dance, but you’re sandwiched
between a marble floor and steel boot worn by
compliments on your resilience. for a moment

you thought this nightmare aint so bad once
you settle in. maybe your maker is fond of foreplay.
wants you to see it make love to all you could be.
gone. you, gone. but still here,

clinging, with sweaty
hands. to a love letter
that limns a shadow

hiding in the dark, all alone.