Queer art and contemporary
You step into a museum,
a photographer who is so curious to know things
but gets upset of the things
you see most of the time. Down the stairs,
there is an oil painting of love.
Side by side,
two boys are holding
closely a bolt of rainbow
as if holding each other’s heart.
They are kissing with a strong
zeal that looks real.
What do you think of them?
When the sadness comes in like dirt,
I slide in neglect; an anti-elegy and mob out the left-over happy me.
I’m a citizen of several things at once,
as concern as they own me more than myself. The gold of this genesis is complex.
I mean too much things can’t exist one place at once.
It must be my body making all this space for itself and yet accommodating.
All I hear in myself is:
Say sadness, despite the species in the self.
Say boomerang, despite the bullet crawling from a pistol— coming at you like a
weird honeysuckle in vertical motion.
The phoenixes will welcome you despite knowing all these dead things.
I spent what
calling me a bitch.
I’m so damned that
I forget myself. At little moments,
I‘m a billboard, all my images are
In the next,
I’m a prayer boy
casting all the devils into a light
bulb for devils know no light.
Photograph of Ugonna-Ora Owoh by Chi Grand.