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Scene II (for binyavanga)

in outerspace this morning sat a bird on my  headboard

twittering in a language they call love.

                  (binya, if love were an act, what would it look like?)

  suppose love were a verb that does, and outerspace a place

  would you get into this steel pipe and slide with me?

(i have a confession to make):

                                if i touch the plunger to brew coffee


lift this phone to text and call


sit on this chair to fake work


stay awake to not dream


think i aint thinking of you when i am

               everything leads me to you.

So, please tell me one thing:

can i love you out of this?

Categories: Uncategorized

Neo Musangi

i like to think of myself as a stubborn non-human organism experiencing existential nightmares as though i were human. after numerous almost-failed attempts at long-form, i now call myself a poet (which i use as an excuse to be cynical about life).

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