DNA analysis show clay
in my body & it stretches
sometimes
it shadows other bodies
orbiting them/it
a fall of oranges; rotten teeth
yellow with sweet sour taste
sometimes
it orbits the sunflower time
&/or
the moon flowering nightmare
'time twas my body
fetal in iced cake rigor mortis
a sculpture
of used masks
for the gulags in me
gulag is a Nigerian word
I promise
art can be anything
a fruit tree by the swing
orange orange & green
perched hands
on dying soil
where clay once gathered itself
from rust
merge with the wind
this is how my body becomes art
I am
if all the books tongue-lashed
themselves in the wet
they will come together
a pulp machine
a papier maché
waiting for the creator's spittle
& dexterity
put on the light artist
make me a child again
from clay
teeth from paper
& put oranges in our mouths
what I say is
my body does not drain
& it means nothing
moulded by your hands..
