my mirror, my mirror on the wall
that I am tells me / beauties lie in
the eye of the beholden / my eyes
swim through the closed college
gates & remember / oh how I long
for the not-so-long-ago / with a you
ng skein of nostalgae on my mind //
a grief ago, huh, dylan / how much
worse is a grief after / waiting for
godots by a tree of ungolden bou
ghs without a rope // when the doc
tor asks, how are you feeling, the
greatest disease is a lack of words
shakespeare surfing the net for ham
net, pinging him / gone too soon son
wind spun smoke / ice swirled coke
dream cream sleep / depth of a beep //
akhmatova's requiem burning in
stalin fires but also saved in her &
hers mind / neruda scurrying with
the CIA on his trail / a comet with
a tail of poetry // every country has
more blood on its hands than tears
to wash them away / because coun
try is not a singular noun / each pi
xel a people, each border made of
people chained together, of people
only able to look one way with ti
ring eyes & tiring tiring hands // for
give me, ajay, for I have seen mys
elf found in the times of doubt / be
auties die in the die of the die & I
found myself seen / a grief after
~Ajay
14/11/2020
