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Goodnews Karibo


in the beginning there was a bird, and the bird came

          with the voice of a rushing storm, and all the

things that the storm passed through became statues,

          things black as the thin coating of silhouettes

so that remembrance became the vestiges of bolts

          of cropped light,

and laughter could not leap past the candle smoke.

          meanwhile, a parrot is crying across the shelf.


there is a torn chapter in the book where a bartender

          is seen photographing our locked arms

I hiss into an empty room and watch memory cough

          a flowing thing that resembles a rivulet into my


the moon punctures my back with a yellowing of

          warm light– a vase shape-shifting

through organic milkweeds. in describing the brunette

          whose voice is a red piano

I lean into the music of the impermanence of things.

          if you listen more to the stones under rushing water,

if you force a finger down the dark hallways of your

          throat and pore over the elasticity of


friendship, the haunted sheets of knowing will smudge

          the fossil-red breadth of caravan

          to own our kind of fire is to wound the universe

at its floodgates of flushing light–

Goodnews Karibo is from Rivers State, Southern Nigeria. His works have been published by African Writer, Stone of Madness Press, The Cloudscent Journal, and others. You can find him on Twitter @goodnews_karibo or on Facebook as Karibo Goodnews.      

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