Tag Archives: Mesioye Johnson

Some Poems About Schizophrenia

i my friend talks about blood & blood & blood till vain became a passage for his blood. ii a boy leaves his enemies, fights with furniture & a mirror showing the nakedness he is made of. iii delusion hides … Continue reading

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Items in My Absent Father’s Box

a rolled paper full of half-burnt names a wet brown paper whose dryness at one of its edge is a weary shape of my country’s map. a camera. i switched on this recorder of fire & loss. the last series … Continue reading

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Gathering Words to Paint Grief Better

“Because the year is a distance we’ve traveled in circles”—Ocean Vuong you move closer to the music giving your body warmth when silence eats you up, this isn’t a rule it’s the only freedom left, freedom caged in a tin … Continue reading

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A Verse for a Ripe Body

in seasons, the body digs and digs unknowns before becoming a grave for all poems of fire it has ever analyzed. in the process of bringing the heart between textures of grief, a city has to fall around a sackcloth … Continue reading

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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 … Continue reading

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A Brief Poem About Hunger

( after Agarau ) you always want to gift your life to a lifeless thing—maybe what sieves some wars from your veins      into your body, or what takes part of your darkness and burns it                  burns it till you become fire burning … Continue reading

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In Lagos, Bodies Switch Music in a Tanker Fire

that day, the cloud opens hurriedly for a prophecy of smoke, it opens like daybreak and it’s so funny how bodies make fire easily, everyone carried race all over their bodies, black. black. black. no one remained the same like … Continue reading

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Evaporation

I imagined a friend’s face as wide as the sky winking into a distance forming nothing. at times silence is opened like a bucket craving raindrops so the sun seduced the edges of my silence through the window blind & … Continue reading

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Nome Patrick Asks Me How Life Is in a Chat

& I zoomed a burning forest on my palm. a rotten orange stained my silence after falling twice from nights that didn’t plant me well in as a green absence. I couldn’t reply what burns my skin into a shape, … Continue reading

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My Nephews Asked Me for a Story

&I fixed my eyes between a horizon forming a right angle with a certain absence. a fire becoming a black boy. a city receding into a sour anthem. somewhere too tired of my silence—my exit diary folding into odes. my … Continue reading

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About Us

we under stand our trem ors so well, it is a str ing we hold like promise again st our wound to play a music of absence louder. Mesioye Johnson is a writer who loves the darkness of the world, … Continue reading

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