In Solidarity of Your Grief

when I asked how are you:
don’t lie, for you were the speed
on vehicles going to uncertain places,
don’t lie, for half of a dead moon bounced
in your heart before you said “I’m fine
—you, an art in every broken design.
a loop of sadness rushes into places
you name after absence, and absence,
a hole you kept what couldn’t keep you in honey,
and you disengage easily like a shore unfolding
from thousand waves,
you enter the bathroom and your darkness hides
in soap, they didn’t go,
you go to bars, froth from your cup rises like thorns
knitting the hem of your body, they fall back,
you carry it to church, and you flip like a canon
of war demarcated by echoes, you came home
and I asked again, “how are you,” you said,
“you’ve been the sadness of everywhere you went”

Mesioye Johnson is a writer who loves the darkness of the world, hence, the gift of art he gives.

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