КИТ

When they believe they’re real 

All my friends are props

Fake driftwood in hip shops

Sinking to a shoreline 

To a bright dissociation online

Faceless toys in wasted stretches

Dancing drunk along the edges 

Of plastic roofs, and shouts 

Pristine angry agony in clear routes

Wreckage of forgotten pearls

Stabbed open to the world 

Muted locks of intense silk

A reptile’s reaction to milk 

Fascination and disgust

Sudden loss of fickle trust

The twin stars’ twinkle encodes

Hidden paths to aborted moons 

And the gay shadow of Earth 

Mystery for lonely diggers of dunes 

Muddy homestretch forever fading

Losing air to duty for choked hope

Eyes closed with worlds split 

Spilling my thoughts like morning coffee 

Over a nameless body 

Probed by the mirror

As to why yesterday’s soul was clearer 

Metal dances as it’s shredded 

Left torn and lightheaded 

Two ways to a home 

A hut of seafoam 

Its eternal pyre 

The gotra of a Iyer 

Golden threads on my wheel

Hair woven into shield

Oh eyes don’t look 

Truth’s never been in a book

In a mind, in a box 

Truth’s real only when hear no locks

Pervading spaces, escaping dams 

Dizzying nights of splinters 

Hard-fought winters spent indoors

Rural songs of dark cancers 

Suicidal horses, lifeless dancers  

Anomalies in the flow of tar

The end of every tsar

Liquiform destiny of a parr

Querulous introduction to sunsets

Skull sunk in an armet

And prayers.