bliss station ~ poetry

you, second last bench

*

I

am tired of waiting here

where it's only halfway to ash

when it's always threatening to

scream into the ears of fire

like indignant stars of the farthest away

**

go dust the duster ajay

the chalk sea of the blackboard

fingers surfing into names

the green saree shape of the teacher

synthesizing over head downed faces

caught in the corners of shrinking cells

***

the dead tubelight above

when signs of life

a slinky of suddenly light

pulls me into a starbite

enzyming me crazy like

insecure stars of the farthest away

****

I want to locate you precisely

on the band of traceable details

but the if dynamic of it all

beams in sun & fog

making tyndall dancers of

vague brownian dust

*****

the fog & the sun

someone cut from the gauze

maybe caught in a gaze

or bought in a craze

of colorless money

******

I am so fucking slow orbiting

let's be frank some dumb forces

& the distance between the light above

& the second last bench has

let's say a red shift of z is equal to 10.7

*******

under head downed faces the angles

obtuse as fingers pinch zoom the screen

fumbling all matter into a scrunchie

& the gap of the midnight knot

of the kerchief tight at the wrist

pulled shut just as a yawn is gathered

in hollow palm & a back hand

touching the colorless inside of lips

********

wanted to hug the okazaki fragments so bad

because I know what it's like to be discontinuous

watching the other end to end run smooth

& be ligased later to wonder

if pity might be analogous with love

*********

but in the light of the farthest away

I am the only one slow clapping

refiring synapses in a hurry of gunshot

locating precisely in the years of fire

where vector adding our gazes is zero work

when it's sunfall & fogrise

our zigzagging brown dust refusing to colloid

are pulled shut in a closeknit singularity

caring nothing for fragments nothing for gaps.

~ Ajay
15/5/2020