Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Thinking about Preetom on a Tuesday Night

"I lift my skirt for the economy"

When I am seen only
by the specific needle of light
emanating from Preetom:

I wonder

Preetom is an alcoholic drag
and his body resembles something coughed up
by a muggy wave

when nobody was looking.

(I don’t mean how it looks
how it looks could fill the shelves
of dreams)

but how it moves when it denies
my wincing agency. I tried hard to cough
that tuneless
song of reason from my little cave.

It’s like that time he said
have you ever fucked a flower.

And I imagined a beauty
that could disappear age.
But he imagined a force
that could make him feel

I wonder what Preetom is doing
right now. He is watching anime
I wonder
what kind of animal I am
through his cracked prism:

like, he put my foot in his mouth and
like, he did not listen to my brief
tuneless song of reason and like
I was waking and torqued beneath

and like.

And like I gave a
small coin that currency
and like.

Now Tuesday night does
its thing all over me.
I made my bed to lie
on it and think of Preetom.

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