zig-zaggy free

it is hard not being able to write original stories the sequences seem easy and the plotholes seemingly vanquished after plot-drafts and character equations; yet the anima or animus of it all a description, a synopsis or synopses evade me or to sound witty my synapses; that may seem strange and pathetic but a truth

ennui-tonic

this import of aggression that ennui had made worsted and winnowed into a fine parable that only I can share; I who hold the bones and the crosshairs of my skeletal affixations this tire which is smoothened and crinkled by the night whose gaze is not a penetration by a clitoral malady and not a

Wind kept

A poem of self

solace temporary; torture temporary

bits and pieces of raggedy bone that is the slimming of my patience reading other poets online to be inspired as I am exasperated, weight gain and the logic of dieting it infuriates me; not due to non-participation, I need exercise yet a lush-and vivid life too; to call my own this ennui blinks and

a sort of dream imagery practice

edging out into convoluting fragments; eclipsing dust settles the dream is a random wolf searching for its pack it’s collection of fur; it slaughters nightmare wendigos in this dream sitting in haunches looking at rabbits and deers that make the mosaic of the palette hungering is an option we all are baptised in how we satiate

A Few Quick Thoughts About Triggers That Trigger

Originally posted on The Belle Jar:
One thing that doesn’t seem to get a lot of discussion is what happens and what we can do when two equal and opposing triggers meet. We tend to often talk about a lot of triggers as if they are are universal and objective and, thus, avoidable by things…

antiqudern

coupled with only my letters vassaled and vesseled it into my veins like a form of oxygen crystalised into flesh a wordsmith always forged iron until the forge no longer was science.▬

flight of legs

they clipped your wings so you could not fly: you chose to run instead and make some wings of papery grass to glide away. They try to tame you with a tortuous nag, of civilised society you found civilisation on a walk with moss and stone and the freckles of the moon and the cobwebs

Nandi Vishala and Microaggression

Originally posted on Etches of Ink and Light:
The Jatakas are stories about the previous lives of Buddha. But some of these stories could as well be re-read in our current sociopolitical context as sophisticated social criticism. For instance, Nandi Vishala, in one story, is a calf which belongs to a Brahmin. The Brahmin hears…

strolling by

there is a pausing, a nightingale wrapped in dragonfly wings under a dew of dawn, suckling away in some dream I am paper like a sunspot, a codex of light with a shadow encased monument to blood and flesh of kin to stone rapture comes easily as long as my arteries keep well the moon