Home...is this conundrum beating me into sub-missionary position that withers my wherewithal an desensitizes my unusual sensitivity,
where I devolve further into the stasis of stagnative placidity
that I journeyed here to reinvigorate myself out of.
Iron-ic that the dwelling of they who forged the Ogun in me seems to be the perfect quench for his sun-hot bellows.
I left that place where I "work", that room I loathe for its muckish drag on spirit,
that small altar to the great, fetid clutter of my mind
All those to whom I tie my desire to pro-ceed are here, yet, they all seem to aid me in famil(y)ar pacific activity.
Why save me through 26 hours of persistence to see this.
Why do I not bare the witness of grand, electric, fiery inspiration?
or at least cross the street to speak to the neighbors.
Perhaps I am being introduced to the truth that I have only to be a great man's son -
not need, not will, not choice...
Elegba toils his deeds through me........and now takes his gleeful feast on my plight.
This house haunts, harrows....does not heal as expected.
Trudge all you want from your terror,
the water is as wet and the mud is as heavy here as it is at home.
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