Of A Sense Poem by Tunji Ibrahim

No definition of imagination for tugging at my log. The act in the art of heart fakes the flakes and blames the flame of fame... When the moon blue with boom, tootle my zoom with fume. The taboo of calloused hands yanked me into the zoo of doom, bald-patched from the long dragon tongue, licking and sucking the scorching sun... My tool tooting in rococo tears of fearless fear; my eyes now talking to their puddle... and to the senselessness of my sense, my imagination does not hold me... my silence is now even too loud.