#howanxious

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disbelief a sense of disbelief — people pleasing people, shadows falling a-p-a-r-t in their own figurative voids…

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time capsule

all these years erased, memories faded to blots of ink&dust (rewritten and smudged

in/by a whirlwind of a mind)

nothing is real (nor unreal) in an unchanged sun’s beckoning light, that falls cold on the fullness (red pulp &orange rind) of my ripe skin.

this air is not the air that carries voices &smells across the plateau of another time.

years that were gone/erased —

i never left, never became a…

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mirror-image

i treat white words and black smiles as one when the moon looks like a lamp, a river of despondent virtues &potential sins,

i look like a mirror, an image of an image, drinking from the same chalice as a millennium of systemic subversion, my stigma is attached to my body, and i carry it around like a baby in a cradle, like a queer impulse of my hope, like open eyes that do not shut in the dark,…

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from the train

Man in a Train, Thinking by Jack B Yeats

after Munna — a stranger/friend from the train

the train that never arrives may have already arrived —

he stutters and rushes his way through many words, obliging the falling dusk with his innocence and resolve, light as a feather, sturdy as the city sky of many colours, all dreams cupped carefully in some determined sighs.

he had ventured for his truth, a…

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ritual of words

Brain matter – Painting by Cerazivka

layered blood-thick, brown-washed, on the walls of my restive seclusion —

the elemental, egregious thoughts fight against the other for more screen-time —

tea dregs & shunted ideas pass through grey matter, spilling out cranial fluids of creative flow —

acid, sweat, water — the dust of dread, the diligence of death —

how the ritual of words is mired in the…

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early morning

Art by Jaime Howard

i have got a morning that doesn’t come too often —

the wakefulness of eyes looks becoming on my face, the arcs of hyacinth on my care- worn cheeks, the fissures of words at the corner of my lips, tricks of a thick smile, teeth like scissors that cut through the nights of des- pair, all look becoming on my ninety- days of seclusion, i do not dream a dream,

but i have got a…

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interrogation where do i look for the lost habit of believing that the shadows may keep me safe?

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a night feast

Lunar Eclipse by Scott Kahn

seeded cherries are your lips, blood is our wine — we drink from the mouth of a night’s vestigial appendage, when the sky speaks of ecstatic pains & pining sighs of a merlot- moon.

cinnamon rings are my eyes, russet are our limbs — we feed on the saplings of our fingers, the perspiring sacrilege of our arduous dreams & deep lines of a copper- eclipse.

. © Anmol Arora

D…

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