Ajay Sawant |
|
Germ Pore
You cut into me
like a green worm in a cherry eye
In an alternate universe—a sapling dies in abundance of water
You will adjust it, a prickle of porcupine
a pineapple with apple cut
a lab of beds for sex with spectators
I am a sidewalk awkward
There’s smut in my nails
a belt filled with twaddled sense; a part made of deceased skin
The will of the skin memory
It’s a trick to divert my attention to a fickle point
There are days being a pathologist
others are emptied scanning for leeches in the slimy bellies and molluscs on naked heads
but the germ is you
I have bills in my side coat
I want to examine him and sign
testaments
you will die and I will write on it
to pay
Ness
Some days my eyes arouse
flooding even before I pick
an onion
In a thousand years, the Orion will
earth his shield to form a groove
and most of the shimmers of me
will bury benighted
Like a pad sunken mellow daisy in a playing field
I gaze up to the sky
lights in dark
A body of Aphrodite embedded
in their faces
The women I have once loved
have silhouettes of heavens within cheekbones
and flat foreheads
A
staircase on back
sides
I visit their nervous
skins
like tineidae berthing on
rust
I blow and they turn in sand
I have witnessed
blueberries burst with strawberries
beautiful bodies!
But all women try to fit in break open
All women I try to open
come apart
Cataclysmic Corner
A delightful possibility would
be clouds of hope and lilies
yet hailstone cloudbursts of desires
Plainly the speculation, it would explain
except the certainty melts panels! & it breaks humans
Every wheel quietly crackles with opaque furrows underneath white skins
unbearable and clot in pump, peracute
obtuse backfire on midnight leverets
Yonder then lilies pollen, vaguely floating
no matter which wreck of human parts they confide
Alike clouds settle in cheekbones and lilies in
deep spine
it's a hawthorn blossom in a
cataclysmic corner
You cut into me
like a green worm in a cherry eye
In an alternate universe—a sapling dies in abundance of water
You will adjust it, a prickle of porcupine
a pineapple with apple cut
a lab of beds for sex with spectators
I am a sidewalk awkward
There’s smut in my nails
a belt filled with twaddled sense; a part made of deceased skin
The will of the skin memory
It’s a trick to divert my attention to a fickle point
There are days being a pathologist
others are emptied scanning for leeches in the slimy bellies and molluscs on naked heads
but the germ is you
I have bills in my side coat
I want to examine him and sign
testaments
you will die and I will write on it
to pay
Ness
Some days my eyes arouse
flooding even before I pick
an onion
In a thousand years, the Orion will
earth his shield to form a groove
and most of the shimmers of me
will bury benighted
Like a pad sunken mellow daisy in a playing field
I gaze up to the sky
lights in dark
A body of Aphrodite embedded
in their faces
The women I have once loved
have silhouettes of heavens within cheekbones
and flat foreheads
A
staircase on back
sides
I visit their nervous
skins
like tineidae berthing on
rust
I blow and they turn in sand
I have witnessed
blueberries burst with strawberries
beautiful bodies!
But all women try to fit in break open
All women I try to open
come apart
Cataclysmic Corner
A delightful possibility would
be clouds of hope and lilies
yet hailstone cloudbursts of desires
Plainly the speculation, it would explain
except the certainty melts panels! & it breaks humans
Every wheel quietly crackles with opaque furrows underneath white skins
unbearable and clot in pump, peracute
obtuse backfire on midnight leverets
Yonder then lilies pollen, vaguely floating
no matter which wreck of human parts they confide
Alike clouds settle in cheekbones and lilies in
deep spine
it's a hawthorn blossom in a
cataclysmic corner
