With a Swoop

It wouldn't kill me
to find new frequencies
in a temper tantrum.
 
Tatamis and memory,
magnetized selves
becoming heavy.
 
Of what is a scream composed?
You may want to know.
 
You may want to know why.
 
It is to these arabesques
that the birdsong
replies.
 
Copula, disappear.
Anguish, multifoliate.
I am a brother to a wandering prayer.
 
Orb in ruined loop
fluting for a lost future.
 
I grab what is left of pistons
bouncing across a street.
 
The barricade is foolproof.
 

Copyright Credit: Uche Nduka, "With a Swoop." Copyright © 2017 Uche Nduka. Used by permission of the author for PoetryNow, a partnership between the Poetry Foundation and the WFMT Radio Network.
Source: PoetryNow (2017)