some thoughts on a dawn

  in a few moments light will come out in a kaleidoscopic explosion but light now is dawn-blue; like ink in water it deepens then lightens the trees are in a budding phase of black and green a new environ  for black and white appears with what feels like another sleep-over.▬

cool and serene

  at times I wish I could taste slivers from the night it’s puffy cotton-candy blackcurrent-midnight flavoured structure and in the cloudscape that are monotonous only to an unobservant eye with pitchers full of lungs-elastic as the monsoon-like air cradles and the heat sways in a rhythm of a long-due sleepy occupant and my mind sans

typo-logy

  there are freudian slips and there are freudian nips and the unusual castration of someone’s virility. There was a need to write “scheme” instead of “seem” and it got me in the crosshairs with the boss who was angered that I defied the motion to be a liar. There was an unconscious hip sway

a type of scaling

  there are sometimes other fragments to be considered; on a scale of 20 is 10 good enough? I hate looking at my weight knowing I’m outnumbered by the calories in a clear Western showdown or epic engagement but there are other numbers; on the scale of 20 can you get a 21? To be

sending postcards to yourself

  there are many metonymies to a person I guess. The lightbulb reminds you of their ideas or the faucet their nature to be so quiet yet also so intense. My heart panics when I realize I feel boring. No one seems to want to know me. It’s hard. It’s tearful. But I’ll hope onwards.

on just the night

  whisking away the night produces empathy; it’s skin rich and gleaning with milk light the 3.40 moon with droopy eyelid and veinlets of grey makes the sky appear lighted and naked of it the sinewy little-old trees in heights close to  tall houses whimper in nervous excitement; the wind touches them too expertly some crows hum

a sort of fight

  sometimes it’s harder to understand the finer lines between wrath and jealousy unprecedented is the passcode to enter the possibility — God shows us what we never think off as I look around as I apologize for my crimes to the egotistical humans I ponder why there is no quid pro quo the criminal gets

highlighted are the networks, neurons neurotic graphed with MRI readiness because the tools were there and the tickmarks were checked, couchez: licensed to analyze; orgiastic gears and then the rattling the iron perfume of the things that are just there I guess no one wants to ask, even in a whisper “What happened?” for they

we harbour the censorious, the truthful — most of us in guerilla gear and stilettosin paper we plot, most of us; inking the tattoes of names that mean nothingin swords we swallow, many of us; damaging the mechaniques of randomness and symmetrywith the guns that master lead and cell division we advertise radioactive canopiesdeath dies

my wounds control with an essence strategically bombarded with feather stepsI do not know them! Oh God let me know them! Their presentations remind me of necrophilia-contortions; not wisdom-love yet masquerade rapistskeen to supply; deaf to the demands they are venom that ooze with the nectars; a deception that counters are not known to meI