By Sneha Sablé
i haven’t cast a shadow
For over forever nights now.
my still lake eclipsed into tidal waves;
Her reflection, Her echoes,
Rippled into a
–j i g s a w–
[an i—vory cage]
i stillbirth howls over the somehows
That summoned a spirit—
A sage & stained the sand beside me
With Her mahogany anklet.
There’s no room for my rest when
Their puckered brows are front-row
Guests.
i—i can’t live up to my unknown name & erase
Her lyrical grace, with
my greasy eye and disjointed rib cage.
Her hollow half,
A hooligan, a hologram is all
i am.
shouldn’t..
Vapours of my wallows should not
Fog their tattered
Tunnel vision.
So, so, for the final defense i,
i bandage with barbed wires
And you can mistake it for boric acid & barricades
But i
.
.
i, can’t bear to see them lament
Her ladies and gentlemen—they’re drunk!
In vino veritas, isn’t it true, doctor?
They'll come down with varicose veins due to me,
Doctor!? Mirrors and retinas
Crumble as though Alexandria,
As though the initials that i long
That i the titan of..
Windigo surnamed—meteor?
Touched and tore like a damn dementor;
And after all,
their eye pits
equate to the Manhattan skyline—
no room for both of our graves
or more of Grim Reaper’s dimes.
After all,
What a migraine, isn’t it?
To call,
Call in for the burial
For Her
O so scarlet dead initials—
What a migraine,
To know
Hers are forever
Engraved in my grave.