Joba Akinola

The Poetry Flows

Like the fat of fast food blocking my arteries
So was the blockade of debris obstructing my poetry
My floetry failed its name, and then fell in stock,
'Cos like water through a closed tap, it was stuck,
Thoughts seeking expression, words sick in expression
But lost in transmission, here's an admission;
My mind was plagued with the papyrus virus,
My tongue, baned with the rantimus stymus*,
My stylus, could engrave nothing on the tablets

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