Inching closer to the night

I’m inching closer to the night

Where it isn’t clear

And what separates me from my enemies?

Circumcised light reminds me of what I’ve lost

And night falls on the breasts that I’ve longed for

I search for that nipple in the dark

Grasping at ceramic idols

Milk has spoiled, desire has not.

My body accepts the night.

It fidgets.

It recoils.

It bursts out through a rib-cage,

“Lungs have become tar-like wings.”

Spreading red cough to the citizens

Mucus gets everywhere,

Seeping through steel-toed shoes

And behind your ears

The remains of this bottle are left behind

The eye travels upwards, and the smoke disappears

Beyond the dingy scaffolding of the window washers

Nothing is pure

Even the air is tainted,

And my body inches towards the night

It gets closer to its point of origin

Like the fire that was meant to change things

But I’m suffering from immolation

 

It peels off my skin,

And distracting me with enlightened conversation.

The scalpel and a local dose of Novocain.

I’m numb,

And that is why I welcome the night

Its silence is moving

And I capture the gradual descent of stars.

The sea that rages on,

Molding the rocks into images

 

The voice

 Briny

And careless,

But it manages to find its way,

To where the night ends

And where I become.

© A.R. Minhas 2017

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