(illusions) of night productivity astrological figures all recommend linear compromise: trust in your work, let it become your life as if there is an answer casting its invisible heat on our doors
ishan bose lohitha kethu
how, or where, do i begin?
keep breathing, or oxygen will leave your dessicated soul with every step lodging teeth into your skull wander between hell and someplace else it amazes me how the moon is never weary how civilizations of deer still travel twilit roads unafraid how desert condors love— yearn for each other, long after dying, still planets spiral without meaning torrid affairs in subterranean trains, the hush of jasmine flowers weeping
(i need examples by which to live)
temples we revisit in evening rain
a scattering of pills that look like fruit seeds of some alien fruit
you still tell yourself she keeps you waiting (though she is here, and you are content)
blossoming, you know you will disintegrate by next October
pinkish supernova,
an orgasm alone
when will we explain to our children that it’s the moon that sets every dreamless night before the sun even wakes but still him the morning prophets award the horizon?