Tokoni Olobio

(A Poem)

The other year, I dyed my hair blonde to channel my inner Targaryen.
But my dragons were demons
And I was moving mad with mischief all the time.
It was like life gave me cool, pressed lemonade, but I tasted lime;
So I was Icarused, cut down in my prime.
And now I’m all packed up and moving to London,
In the hopes that some Saturday night on the Tube I’ll sit on an Iron throne again.

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(A Poem)

I have kept…the receipts three years after you’ve left,
and aired them on a Spring cleaning.
Souvenirs in memory of episodes cast
and binged while we lay landlocked in bed on weekends.
And as my stream ends and I shuffle off Spotify’s vocal coil,
I wish you knew,
I love you in every universe,
I, still, want you everywhere, every way, all of you at once.
You ignored my letters, so I’ve turned to verse.
Spring is falling, and I’ve turned a mess.
Summer’s calling and London’s at its best.
So I’ll leave you,
tomorrow.
But I’m replaying episodes first.

Photo by Jonathan Borba on Unsplash

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(A Poem)

Revolution in my hands,
I shake them, fanned out,
a mime on this Zoom call, and undermined.

I have laid out my poem like lines of code,
hoping to kill this entry,
poison procured from my pet python, Jebediah.
I have strung conditionals in infinite_loops.

If the sun rises:
write, fork, code, eat, repeat.
Else:
sleep,
wait for Winter to pass,
the last fluttering leaf on a birch,
like a weave
alighting from a bald lady’s head.

But I can’t wait in bed
all season for Winter to die.
I like big data, and I cannot lie;
lines of sonnets, couplets, elegies and haikus too.

I must write,
lest or die;
code to get high.
So I sigh into my webcam:
can you hear me?
I’ve taken up arms against death.

Photo by Ilya Pavlov on Unsplash

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