the tracks are tumbling in a paunch. a boy left,
a quarter devoured in a raw valley. a fading dream
done to dust. the mystery charted in susurrations. he looked
and we are many here. red trickle trickle stream. i’m losing
how to keep this objective. & from the birds, the gasp.
from the flames, the tree. his hunger ate him into
a boneyard, & then a spirit that flames the embers
of hell in the hollow bones of firebirds. wake me
from this undelight. this archive of mares. the black
power is the wet gunpowder stretching into skin.
the hare ambushing the hunter through the viscera
dims. marvelling. this floaty act of splintering.
now, the dreams outnumbered him in voids,
living in the voids of dreams, viz. emptiness
is pregnant. the baby is the boy. the baby is
the butter spread of heaven unwelcomed
in these shards. these things photobombing
the unrigidity of the roots. things unpronounceable
without tautening like the forest fronds of Oba Koso
knotted in the holy fluid of nostalgia & exodus.
(Editors’ Note: “Palingenesia” is read by Matt Peters on the Uncanny Magazine Podcast, Episode 48B).
© 2022 Simbo, Olumide Manuel
