Crack Poem by Tunji Ibrahim

It was one of priority to tangle with the debacle of choice, that which sipped through the heart of inamoratas. I had once monstrously fallen with mythic afara... not until the blossom faded away. Every aeon, without demur, I chose to wear my mind's eye, some same sorry story retold at even a more fearful rate. Now this jar of flesh in pink, a pleased unfolding. Yet I had no sense of misgiving as destiny apocalyptically plotted some sloth of parody in retrospect. And to this jar of flesh, bequeathing my heart into the gestalt of impulse... word, my ingredient of substance, supreme and intense, pulsating on my lips, and nabbed the jar by way of admiration. The poetic cognition of such breezy stellar presence was permitted to overshadow brains and brawn. And I could not but impugn all incandescence of sterner stuff that appeared to breed this moment. Such mythic afara tends to punctuate an immense menacing power if not properly seized. Qualm was not a word in void, for love that which watered my heart wilted and recrudesced, and my heart was the chaff pillaged by the wind.