poem: Sociolect by oko owi ocho

​You speak language of garage

filled with cars made of human

skin, imported from under world of

Lucifer’s continent, and how you

 choke us with the carbon monoxide

fart from your car’s anus
I speak of aromas that graces

my nostrils and choke my heart

with pains of longing lungs
You speak of Suit that has

fan in it’s pocket, your golden wrist

watch which can feed an entire

generation, can tell you when your

grandfather will reincarnate again
What language do i know

other than fire burning in my

mouth willing to curse
You gods among sick-dying angels

you speak of the last young lady

that graced your bed and how

a White nurse massaged you for

checkup and your snake raised

it’s head like a hungry python
I speak of my daughter dying in your

private owned hospital without treatment

since no deposit no treatment
You make plans of how to have

barbecue with mermaids and merman

deep down the carpet of the ocean

or with angels residing in silent sky
I am here rehearsing how I

will spit the fire in my mouth…
© Oko Owi Ocho Afrika

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