By Jasmeet Dosanjh
My poisoned body, delicate
in the love lamp, your wrinkle
of a face, as lovely as a squid
with twinkly arms, hunting.
That is your million-mooned smile.
A boy-shaped satellite.
You get drunk with me, don’t make
a fuss about fucking.
Like your counter-squid, little and shapeless,
I am afloat. Saying a lot more
than can reach your simple mind.
Saying it in pixels of silver poetry
my starry night of a body, all black
under you. A gurgling, giggling thing,
my stars spots, all black, my teeth and claws
all black.
All this zooming at me
in my lonely pod.
My phonological loop playing the bad music of May nights
when we had one broke-down jeep and a
crescent speaker with static for bass.
Your blackened, quietened face
in my visuospatial sketchpad, losing
all its moonshine. I first loved you for your kind eyes.
Later I loved because I gave my May to you,
inevitably my June. I hurt daddy trying to love you.
I stole his white revolver. I scratched it
with my cherry claws.
I put it in my mouth. The bathroom mirror
numb as numb trying to hold the dead weight of me.
Like a callus you lived on me. You had your sting your note
your tonic pressed in some sheath, deep under
where a quasi-heart is affirming a little life. A little dragged
and jolted. Hair chopped in neat cliffs, black as black,
as claws, as teeth, as your memory.
You have compressed your crushed face in my
body shop bottle. Honeycomb glass, fringed where
your brow dreams open. And noded
where your sex rose when I was still fresh for you,
a pale pill with ringlets. A naughty, giddy, bursting thing.
With pointy ears. Had your name on my lips
before the haunting.
Cigarettes rolling out of my mouth in eternal
discovery of how slender a thing can be
on a diet of cola and nicotine.
I fling a superslim at the backhouse
something catches it-
I don’t know, I have churned your lovely slants,
the parts of you I cannot unremember
into a ghost. Almost a living thing.
Your hands stay despite
my cutting out of your sticky cells.
Chromed into
my spiral ends. The last molecules
of a staring apple-thin nothingness.
Used to be a girl
once upon a dream.
By Jasmeet Dosanjh
Very deep piece of art. Definitely made me feel something.
Nice story
Wonderful
Great job 🖋️
Nice work...👍👍