《dreamclot ~ poetry》buds of metaguilt
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when bodies knead together they smell
like smiling vanilla snakes of light
slithering like a slice of a shoreless flood
but when bodies need together they smell
like soggy clothes drying indoors on a rainy night
when a caged bird only looks outside to find
other caged birds know that it has swallowed
a song flying infinitely inwards to whisper
chaos into every consenting emptiness—
an audience for a russian-doll-shaped suicide
i am not afraid of the condition of death— look
how the faithlacking boy's lackadaisical saunter
through the cemetery alienates even the big bad
bully boys— but i am afraid of the act of dying
of the bureaucracy of the body
of negotiating pain-hijacks
where does the body— oozing with guilt-clung guilt
& overthought-choked overthinking without any
liquid love to shape the dough— where does the body
take a piss in a world seemingly built on holy waters?
but the caged bird doesn't even have a devil to sell
its soul to— so it sings in hopes of being sung to
~ ajay
15/7/2021
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