Nana Nyarko Boateng

Inks stuff dormant cages,
muffled pieces lie about in globes
brittle images pilot
fallen wings of rhythm
smells are mortified, feel denied
stanzas turn in
stretched and disowned
lexis detained. In a spar.
Senses bleed for clout
I lean and loiter
till
Poetry
comes again.

Nana Nyarko Boateng