bliss station ~ poetry

almost crossing the length of almost

harakiri space rocks strike a bird dead &

I think of the shroud laid over her body

each thread waltzing with its part of felt

space before in betraying unity trapping

air which cries unsynced creases & I think

of you our point of contact // at the end of

the day I see homeward birds with beaks

stuffed in blazing coal colored berries &

seeds furled in namastes / flying through

cell towers like neutrinos ghost their wings

flapping against the sky dark like an egg

carton with mammatus daggers jabbing

from the other side // the well after rainfall

a mother shrouds herself at a naked body

the father identifies it as the daughter // & I

wonder why virile bullets can't trace a cent

ipede trajectory / crawling wriggling squirm

ing / allowing bodies in its way mole out like

meanings through long arduous sentences //

sky in abscess / the birds what birds / she is

now it // when the stench of the fucked up

shows up I look away to the time four mins

to school-bell / our bodies parallel / fiddling

geometry boxes glace paper shapes chewing

gum punctuation // we grow / blood & boners

breasts & beards / but still four minutes to bell

you hum-bite lyric ends to meet time / the heal

ing sleight of hands of clocks // if a tree fell in

the middle of the city where would the birds go

will it rain / does the father tear in joy at being

mistaken / & our transversal touch touchstone?

~Ajay
28/4/2020