I stood at the edge of my life
to inspect if there is a new way to begin,
but all I found was the same familiar silence
swallowing me whole.
My ears were bleeding white, I ran out of my body
and slid into a coffee shop.
There is no sane way to escape
the body. The boy behind the counter offered me his teeth
and wanted my name in return.
A boy has no name today, stranger—
I’ll carry your name as mine today.
A cup of hot coffee on the table,
and in it, the art of a cat letting off an atomic bomb.
I tug at my shirt, and I am the cat.
I tug at my fur and I am the bomb.
What is there to do now?
Why is the jukebox playing the same song
over and over,
and over, and
Animashaun Ameen is a poet and essayist. His works have appeared or are forthcoming in Salamander Magazine, Foglifter, Lolwe, Third Estate Magazine, Roadrunner Review, and elsewhere, and he is the author of Calling a Spade (forthcoming). He lives and writes from Lagos, Nigeria. An oddball. A butterfly.
Header photograph by Linds Sanders
Header artwork by Jordan Keller-Wilson
Vast 
Beautiful piece