Dreams

 

every sunday,
mum places a violin, an organ
& an orchestra
inside my mouth.
she would say: life
is not a bevy of silence,
neither is today the hour
when solitude is bliss.
make it count little one.
make it count
she would whisper
into the canal of my ear.
& i will walk
to church filled
with my sins,
attached to me like ringing bells,
shouting certain utterances
that sound like cherubs
singing handel’s  halleluiah chorus

 

 

 

Reprobate

 

 

you were slightly
above a score
when you tasted
the pillar of salt
at the gate of sodom.

then, your legs
trotted forbidden paths
like a chick unaware
of the buzzard.

& despite the speck
in your age
you watched as men
ate loins of goddesses
like it was
their last supper

 

 

 

Ajise Vincent is an economist and social researcher based in Lagos, Nigeria. His works have appeared or are forthcoming at The Bond Review, Indiana Voice Journal, Jawline Review, Jalada, Ink, Sweat & Tears, Ann Arbor Review, Yellow Chair Review, Bombay Review, Snapdragon: a journal of art & healing, The Cadaverine, and various literary outlets. He loves coffee, blondes & turtles.