see what inkjet I make of my deft paws,
concealing a switchblade—cupid hung,
to serve as restraint when I word overboard with love.
my long breath, drawing the heat for print.
the jammed teeth of wastepaper.
I fill the cartridge that is my guts,
sum all saliva to one thick blot spilt with good stink,
doubling as a period.
thirst brings the fashion to my lip,
thrills me through the rainy font
& lost sizes of glyph molten, as I vent things I learnt by heart, rote
& impulse because everything needs a crimson reminder.
like me, alarming myself in red when I spell incorrect,
or punctuate my wrong thoughts.
I’m an actual clown when you let me,
humoured beyond what I can contain.
answerable to all I crack up,
without fisting the pothole new beside sandpapered hands
polishing the manuscript of mud,
as if a cement for test-run.
the margin weighs more, now.
I untuck my hand,
brand my spine—a brochure of lean possibility
groomed to measure up to your frail love.
the ovation boots the arteries of this poem
& I consider opting out of this blood task,
if all it takes to write you is mold my lever arms
& feed off the mechanical benefits for the time pressure stays.
© 2021 Nnadi Samuel