Nick Makoha
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New poems by Nick Makoha
Hollywood Africans The only thing that was certain was that it was June and we had spilt a pepperoni pizza between us. An ultraviolet light set the room: Basquiat channel surfing looking for cartoons, while Icarus prodded a canvas to see if the image fitted precisely in the frame. He was…
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Two poems by Nick Makoha
Codex 3 We were thirty. Another day was ending as a mosquito landed at the edge of my hand. You ordered two beers, to pour ourselves into, at the airport bar. Each sip a minute of absence as a bird trapped in the atrium flew in the direction of our gate. Flight…