packt like, pack-it like

shanti weavedin your hair through your full beard

through ears and eye lids dropt like tinfoil

painted over like blinds

creepingcrawling packt with hysteria

words, all we have 

time is running out! 

nestle my head into

flying squirrels red brown little men in striped suits

 an army of me

dissonance! guilt ridden outpourings more, again

 packt like tight tobacco

into your atlas shaped deserts mountains seasides blue grey eyes the eating of the man

the drilling of holes the dropping into ends

under trees crawl into the insides of chicken flesh and buffalo meat unmarked but for your native squiggles 

 dropping like flies packt into your- mouth how many would fit? open your mouth to see! blow them out like smoke rings think of this: billowing clouds of flies  

buzzing buffoonlike 

i situate you in my perlocutions 

uzak! there are worse games than waiting games and i wait 

packt like sweaty men in bottles of fruit vodka

do your mothers eyes see through my radiance?

 

 

uglier than sin

this chaos within

a sound is it a dwoombbb? it pulls you in
but we know nothing ends like this, with silence.

A spot a line a dash a spotted hazy spinning forward spiral
into darker fogs rubbish regurgitated and laid out on your mat
lines drawn and pushed aside horrorstruck watch this fall inside

not really anything right now really, not as ugly as I would have imagined. just a push.
an impetus, a sickness to the stomach and an ostrich like forgetting.
A thumb snagged on jagged nails, a floor curtain falling into rice beans
a fire ritual shootout
bank heist in broad daylight.

the end the end, this is it here then
the spring fever madness began too soon
an agoraphobia grips me and now. wait. you
wait to watch, leave and forget. because this hill you have climbed is done and now
the fall has begun.

A newer year

smells of? 

new bangles?

crispy paranthas/souring malai 

maroon fingernails

cold

 baths.

old people

new people

a peeling  nose 

same stories, some stories

daring to plan hoping it won't explode

another loss to screeching tires

old whispers rehashed

Another nil factor, revisited 

(this must stop)

tolerance

tears at the newspaper

videochat tits on parade

sickness in my stomach

children covered in rubble who are you and why 

are you in my house?

I live here.

no you don'

t