can you see what's in me when you hold me
against the light. is there a watermark or at least
some water. is it different from the ones you've
drowned in before. you singe a ladder on my back.
i can climb out of myself now, up in oxidic flames.
i borrow kafka's axe for the frozen sea within us
and use it to slide down the glissade of your past.
i learn that things burn faster out in the open
at a moment when i needed to be most contained.
that's why i didn't correct myself when i misspelt
combustion as conjunction, as composition. when i
repeat your words they grow in my mouth like a vel
and pierce my tongue. my clothes, which you often
switched into, become my kavadi. dirt turns to vibhuti.
waits to kurava. and the exile begins to see himself
as a pilgrim. i'm a loan. the aruval of your eyeliner
is the blackmail and the blueprint for its recovery.
i cannot spell precarious without precious just as
i cannot spell you without the zero of my mouth.
~ ajay
2/10/2024
