Sifar


How I faltered into your luminescence corrupting the midnight waters!
To swim moonwards was a separate warfare between me & the trellis of
nerves soldiering your skin.

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My body's tilted abecedary, it's primal mezzotint. The risen only speak
in tongues of roses & wolves.

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Spin my silk from the dark folio of crow-scooped saltpans. The oil lamps
rephrased in the qasida of dark doves.

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Somewhere the storm collared the houses, shook the groves of hunter's
green into its own mosaic of liquid gold. Somewhere else, a buffalo limped
ahead of lightning's ruthless telepathy.

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I remember my mother shuttering all the windows, unplugging electronics
away from their glittering tensions. Our home slowly closing in on me like
the tobacco-rotted brownyellow whorl of His mouth.

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I want to say I love You, but instead this photograph of dasht-e-margo –
hillspeech cognitions of terra-cotta, a hawk descending upon the stone
like a blind archangel.


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From distance, I swallow the rain down to its slowest blade and still can't
tell if I am the thinned silver of God's fallen tongue or its bloody song.