• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 10

Mundane cling

As I stand tall,
black raisins – red eye
My face is brown and I have elongated arms
to hold you and people around –
waxy structure amongst us
pink, brown, blue – all I have.
I am formed to hold and leak
between the seismic rim of eyes.
What is even this poem?
It gasps and hops –
a feverish mock of life
                my face is here – a dream so listless
prowling through blue skies.

My whimper gives birth to many hopes,
colorless this time,
faceless – mahogany smell
to form a verb and to defy it the very next moment.
I carry this narrative to form a conjecture so rigid
watching the street only to see how it watches back at me
vibrational standing
mixed colors –
a great anatomy to hold everything in my small palms.