Old Dreams of Home, Kolkata
Flailing fish in cauldron desires end. The fish-man's siren song offers a…
Read more →Inside, maps of rot, dead birds, and fruiting cats bloom. This decay asks for space.
There remains an orange peel map under my collarbones,
By the time we meet, it will rot into nothing or I will have shed it off.
Outside the airport you will find my fingertips disintegrating and the dust will choke you.
The bird in the tiny nest outside the house has died,
Its numbered days eaten by the broken twig nest.
Look for the nest inside my mouth.
Q
Three cats have died since
And now bloom into trees in the backyard.
And in my enlarged ventricle, you will find their fruit.
All of this will ask for space next to you on the bed tonight.
You still have some time to say no.