Ayo Olaore's Blog

We will always be here, you said This town and you and the rusty moon under the browned trees and the night sky. The permanence, a brick house, Built to withstand earthquakes and silent explosions Inside I am never the same. It's a smack in the face The beauty of you on the last night Before the world comes back to claim me. My heart, a packed suitcase, Exchanging blood and oxygen for the the salty ocean And the forested mountains. Did I mistake the tenderness of your words? With my open hand on your heart, My head on your chest I said I love you, You want me to be happy. Zipping up the moment like a tight pair of jeans. My friend, we are oceans divided By the comforts of home, And the soft curve of loneliness. I was the one who left Resolved you would never consider that You are the point inside where joy begins. We shrug it off And pull away without exhailing Until sleep restores the unfused mess of us.

There are no bears in the money. There are eagles and lions and the queen. The Tigris and the Euphrates whose stripes change ever so slowly. The bear sits in the market place. In an alley cafe, reading the Financial  Times while drinking coffee now on the queen. She glitters like she is, while the Tigris shines like gold and silver and the big cats stalk the thirsty antelope. And the antelope has no money but waits in the ante room, waiting for its anti-life to end. And the tranquilizer dart takes down the cat, and the dear little deer darts away, to live another day, for there are no bears by the river. There are no bears in the money which the antelope does not have, or does not carry. My parents friend had a Dodge Dart, back when they were tiny and covered wrinkled sheet metal. Back when I was tiny. The friend is long dead and I am covered with wrinkles. And the Dodge dart is back for a third time around. The bear finishes his croissant, and lumber off, for a bear will a...

There are no bears in the money. There are eagles and lions and the queen. The Tigris and the Euphrates whose stripes change ever so slowly. The bear sits in the market place. In an alley cafe, reading the Financial  Times while drinking coffee now on the queen. She glitters like she is, while the Tigris shines like gold and silver and the big cats stalk the thirsty antelope. And the antelope has no money but waits in the ante room, waiting for its anti-life to end. And the tranquilizer dart takes down the cat, and the dear little deer darts away, to live another day, for there are no bears by the river. There are no bears in the money which the antelope does not have, or does not carry. My parents friend had a Dodge Dart, back when they were tiny and covered wrinkled sheet metal. Back when I was tiny. The friend is long dead and I am covered with wrinkles. And the Dodge dart is back for a third time around. The bear finishes his croissant, and lumber off, for a bear will a...