so, can’t sleep huh



dreading sleep or sleep dreading me
these doldrum infestations 
mutilated by what/ki I don’t know
so exhausted; yawning into a nightmare of
mixture somnambulism-insomniac-depresso

my eyes close in front of my writing instrument
locked off in some jettisoned heat from time and energy. ▬

somethings I don’t know


it’s really hard here
I don’t know the common things
the simple things
as simple as tying knots on a dress
there is laughing, jesting — many a times in good humour
but it breaks me apart
like bone being beaten
why do I have such a retarded growth
I speak in a different language
a colloquialism all of my own
and I feel like breaking into a fetal slide
with X-rays showing the malfunction ▬

sleepless in sleeplessness


insomnia is like little crack on a glass
water slips from it
but you have refused to replaced it
your arrangement skills are dull
you are mopping moping mess

you are not doing anything
you are just doing
it’s like a flash of bright bulbs burning your switch

water is nice, even from the chipped glass
even for a chipped mug
it’s nice to know that you are sanitized from it
but…slowly….you wonder, ‘Shall I scream out an anecdote or just daydream of skies and warm waters that make comfortable sleep.’ 




attraction is not optional
or, so  my anatomy tells me
with its clicks, chimes, cool nectars, hot suns and moons
flowing by in the constellation of my eyelashes
and my mouth wants to open and close at the same time
like the pulsating heart; docile and fiery in some paradox-balance

there is a distance maintained; a fence in between 
you are in some garden bathed by a flourish of sorts
I’m in my overcoat, my spectacles, scanning
seeing your pretty, your marvelous skin and thinking how lucky God is that She can always see you

in your visual I do not appear
I am a non-existent frame

sometimes I want to say ‘hello’
but…but…that makes me very nervous ▬

madness, madness



fanged taste  of the poison
local saliva; alien habit
a position most what
is defined as paradox
light bending
darkness inverted
like gravity harvested a supernova
and plunged into a chaos black void

what is madness?
a habit, a tic, a hallucination
a radio-tone, cellphone tap, IM-creak
bubbling pots, undercooked meat, 
vegetables starving, cotton thaw
skin on a pullover curtain
clamped mouth with eyes staring
hands pumped and  linked

maybe a mathematical formula or formulas 
can equate different varieties of madness

or maybe a psychographer
will tear the strings of comforts and risks
as much as one willingly can

and say
“There’s a 12 o’clock appointment
on the needles of space.”