The following poem by Amitava will be appearing in S/tick's second issue, to be launched in Spring 2013.
This much being said/about horizontal copulations/painful as it might be/as the shrubs cover you/as you dare menstruation/those deaths/that are borne of you/those scars that are/shelved upon thee/those deep strains, nagging/as I tear apart/all that you cherished/that first gift of your father/who stood still since/to ejaculate through/only when the stars/desire to visit that anklet/as, by virtue of all genesis/mother was yet to/scratch that earth after/she had all the birds/that cared to sing/thy birth/as only her torso bleeds/as that magic loathes/eternity
Giants pain, and how/as veiled astrologers melt/with maiden sisters/and I dare scene after scene/to write that vouch/for each and every menstruating/fishling/ as the king closes down/stores of birth control pills/thus being dreamt by the queen/after that orgy with pigmented terrains/leading us to thy shelter/as ether caresses/that unborn you failed/thousand yards deep/in that shelf of flesh/and each road in this city/blinds each other candid/leading to deserted war-fields/as the ashamed await re-birth
Remember that death, watery brown/as thus you flee depth/frozen and ready to serve/hence those kids do/who entered your larvae/crying foul and carrying fork/thinking of the files that/made you the most innocent/as a brothel happens to be/which, alas, you are/as, by then, the price of/contraceptives rose/and the priests performed their/elementary masturbation/to reclaim that piece of brown/ on your breast, soft as the/rock that lovers ever touch/thus branding the mirage/ as those stars dreamt/and we all stood by the trees/dead as we are/to sing death, so foul
That was the night/as trivial mothers performed/those suicides by the dead horse/bleeding/so that the banks claim/a revision of the price index/and the horse/being dead/could stay erect for years/made glossy by market/as moaning and death was costly/with tempered mourning/claiming that the sun must burn/all that is flesh/thus turning the universe/into moistened stock blocks/for eternal love makes death/that horse, elastic as the mothers’/thus turning that ethereal enemy/erect as rivers used to be/to fight their capture, purple/as the reddish dead horse/went coarse
Don’t leave that womb/full of garnished memories/for bleeding is their love/thus scattered half-burnt cats/and you loosen your mouth/ogling their limbs, Caucasian/deciphered in thy school book/thus they enter you purple/one before the other/circumscribed as your sighs should be/pleasure as these are/so that planets melt in you/so that their cry awaits/your crystal/as castles were to be softened/by your thighs/that spoke so often/of those mornings/when they pushed your womb/as ringlets spur upon you/as death turns thee/that womb
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