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In the skin of a morning, I fly 

into the skin of a girl cleaving a soil like a magnet. & between her jaw tooth is the 

confession of a country. The same way a

water carries the particles of swollen baits.


But I do not know the melody of comfort. How to say, this short anthem still cracks me into grains of punctured expression like newspaper headlines. Breaking! Somehow,


The void screenshot down the gullet of a funeral, & a police rifle rush into the memory that holds me like dialect — into the vacuum of a thing around moth and dust. 


I say, how does a poem nymph into the monochrome of life and still reverse to mourn at the end of the day? By this I  mean, Daily —I paint my lungs with the muteness of a sea, I, too 


break into a glass of black history hovering on the wings of Lekki like wall painting. In this poem, even birds run into exile. & here, a bullet is a noun. It can kill and resurrect a tombstone 


melting to feathers in the blink of a night, again, my body is a pool  motioning into a Bible verse. Maybe, by this — I can teach a country how to become home again.


Uyo, 2023

Anderson Moses writes from Nigeria. He's is student, studying History and International Studies. His works have been published or forthcoming in Brittle paper, Eboquills, Arts lounge, Nanty greens, Synchronized Mag. Creative mag amongst others. Apart from writing, he enjoys holding conversations  on God and love.


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