Within this semicircle
Lives brilliant sunshine
Lives insecurity
Lives love
Lives awe.

Within another half
Lives the distance of a silver moon
Lives security
Lives love
Lives nothing but love.

And within this circle
Lives you
Lives me
Lives love
It lives.

a contradiction contracted in
lowest terms are
you.
[it’s metal edges]

your beauty is
of
a
garden
(suspended at mid-
clouds), to enter
and

to say

that in such a
variety of
flowers
there
can not
be
one that
attracts
you

to pick it

to dismantle it
and
to
neglect
the
rest.

[it’s plasticized segments]

you know how to
quickly imprint
yourself
on me

when

you laugh
at times
and
conversely
you weep
and

you are like

those skies
that shake me
to my core

when

they are
blinding
on one hand
and
violently bleak
on the other

so

clearly
fractured
they shake
me pierce
me
pierced
i am
by

you.

[it’s just thinned points]

imagine if
a chameleon
started
to
acquire
each
gradation
of
another
creature
in the form
already
similar
to
it:

where
could
he
ever
escape?

[it’s inconstant semicircles]

(i can not
delineate
you
it is like
sketching
a tidal
wave
nobody
can:

painters

invent them)


[and it’s shoved arches]


i’ll tell you
of
a
woman
her soul
shattered
and

subsequently

imprisoned
splinter by
splinter
in hail
stones

she

fell
and
she felt
herself
crashing
at the same
instant
millions
of times

however

she
never
went
insane.

[it’s torn curves]


(and I know well
how a continuity
interrupted
succeeds
to make
you
fumble
convulsively
but it’s not
enough
for me to
restrain
myself
don’t
ask
me
to)

[it’s petrified vertical axes]

what i see
is
a cross
section of
enclosure
handfuls with
disconcerting
efficiency
consisting
of prisms
and

you know how to decompose

yourself inside
an innocence
delimited
you proceed
by inconstancies
you lacerate
metabolizing
you struggle
silencing
and

i could
only
teach you
one thing:

gray is not
a faded
version
of
black.

Time stopped in the dark street illuminated with sparking electric bulbs, sputtering cold light from their beings onto the shining asphalt upon which my feet pound, blood pounding in my ears, drumming a tempo which I cannot begin to understand. Why am I running, these streets made of oblivion shining slick like the scales of a great beast beyond human recollection, something older than we can ever hope to be. Pounding again, beads of moisture fixing themselves to myself, my face chest hair dripping as my hands like swords pointed pump in semicircles, wicking moisture to be replaced with the tears of the incessant storm raging from the heavens; god knows my light-winged thoughts of vigilante vendetta, I’m racing for blood other than that which lights my eyes with the fire of blazing vengeful purpose – this god sees, he sends the storm to make known his rage through which I fight because this within me is bigger than myself, consuming my mind with one-track riots I am racing to destroy this evil with my humble hands, the power I feel beneath my skin, my body more capable when roused with blind ferocity I become a demon, I have black-winged spirits leaving fire in my wake, each step pounding pounding, separating water from stone, stone cracking fire springing up beneath my footprints occupying empty space left by my electric heels, I transfer the energy brimming within me to the pavement because I cannot possibly contain it all. Hands like blades cutting merciless, cleaving wind and water alike as each stride heavy with effort carries me closer to my destination, I am no longer dependent on the strength of my body i let the boundless energy beneath the seams of this reality consume me, I am theirs to do their bidding. I know this road never ends, but I will never stop running. The rain no longer falls beside me, my force is greater than that of gravity, I drag it in my wake – time has slowed as my steps drum a tattoo on the black pavement, the frequency, the tempo ever-increasing to a frenzied rate I hear angels singing songs of sorrow for what I am about to do, but they understand I must and they are there for me – their chorus reaffirms, encourages invigorates frenzy into a force uncontainable, unstoppable by methods divine or mundane, resolves, time stops I hear nothing but the heartbreaking din of angels their voices drown out the world I am theirs as I reach the edge with little conviction and heavy faith I cast my arms behind me as I slide through the air...all has slowed as my feet leave the ground, my arms divine wings I am intent on my goal I take one final breath and close my eyes as the raindrop I have sought collides with my forehead, the purest note sounds as it breaks upon my brow. Visions and memory of light explode into being, enveloping me in the splendor of all things willing as I, like the rain, spread myself to the whole of existence I vanish, no longer static and constrained but a part of all things.
        I hum to the tune of time, sonorous; I have become part of the peaceful wind kissing all things. Here I am content, I strike chords within the hearts of lovers and romantics winded by their own passions – I have joined the choir and taken up my fabled robes, welcome home.
        Welcome home.

The words I spoke
    Painted soft hues in semicircles
   That formed veins in vain
  All the life the colors formed caused was pain
    And disdain for this thing called breath
     I would gladly welcome death
   In the form of the devil kissing necks
           Sharpening a dagger in geometric patterns
    Slicing through my brain matter with a splayed tongue
           Implanting THC in my frontal lobe with infinite precision showing me visions of misread Scriptures read by passive preachers and pastors not knowing the meanings of verses read backwards that sound like incantations for Satan


     Drop.
Drip into my glass
Cerulean liquid so vivid it defies description
Even with these prescription lenses I can't tell the difference between what's okay to write but not say so today
I think
I'll take an AK to Pre K to educate the young with Guns
JFK would smile
Knowing I'm the last gunslinger and expander of minds destined to be assassinated for saying it before my time

I have slipped out of consciousness
And into my mind
Thoughts teasing me in the worst way
Pirouetting perfect semicircles
Leaping just out of grasp
Past bittersweet few drops
The kind that make you young
When you taste them

I can't believe we're finally here
in a world all our own,
No one but that
nameless, powerless god
to endure our screams
of private pleasure and public pain.
the universe has no time for us
you and I, time simply moves
around us in a single file line.

Moving in semicircles,
hoping to land among the evergreens
ruthless salesmen pitch their price
of humanity, souls are
for sale.
can't say whether this is a bargain
or a ploy to make me
shameless.

I sat down for a while,
to stop and steel the roses
but the thorns tore at my fingers like
darkness tears away the sunlight, like
time wears away the make-up, like
the scars I bare across my heart.
so I left the roses.

I ran faster, thinking I was
closing in on you, drawing near to you
but the wind pushed back my sails
full of light, I realized
that I will never
reach that star,
cut that throat,
never burn the bridge
that leads back to where
soul meets body.

Bruises mock my pain,
they are my only decoration
they whisper to me words of
hope,
that i may not go on forever,
that in being human
I am perfect,
I am God.

Fear is only a swarm of butterflies
resting inside your lungs secretly,
fluttering, every time you breathe,
impeding the smooth passage of air
provoking fake illusions of fright.

Sooner than you,
your body becomes their much sought adventure
and when they take a flight down to your stomach,
set idioms come to life - " i feel butterfly in my stomach"
making you feeling anxious or anticipate nervously  "what's next?"

Little did you know,
you could pull them back to your lungs
and push them out with your determined breathing
only to see a rainbow erupting from lips,
not falling back in semicircles , but
rising sharp till the horizon,
breaking myths of conventional fears
and germinating new ideas of observing life.

Just- take the charge.

-Pallavi Goswami

The heat from a breath
Formed a dysfunctional circle
On the glass parallel to my face
As I gasp at the drop off below me.
The empty space below my foot
Catches in my heart
The rapid beat shakes my rib cage
As I swing the appendage in semicircles.
Suddenly,
I
F
A
L
L.
- M.Y.

black locust firewood, gathered by a

hillock of men--with axes & spades for

arms.

inversely dug out, to dig in--deeper.

the ointments of sleep applied to their

eyes--left open, right closed--right open,

left closed.

left/right open.

though they see nothing of this.

when the pit is gutted--the men divide,

into semicircles.

heaping *****-fulls of earth over their

shoulders.

to ceremonialize the short of the long, the

long of the short.

they then ignite the bonfire of black locust

firewood.

about face, & wander off far enough to

disavail appearance.

which's when naked women appear--who

see nothing of this.

drunkenly slip into the bonfire, the curing

of semicircles.

the long of the long...winter, sees all of this.

solstice.

All those Fairy Tales he tells you;

all these Lies you've taken as Truth.

All the Paths that Disenfranchised my hope,

Running in semicircles,

Tripping over other people’s tails.        

                                                 ­                And Fell.

Life is not a grassy maze
It is a cul de sac
Masked as a labyrinth

A rich tapestry of bitterness that promises Pandora
***** you in and then delivers
Nothing but bones
Misleading, all along

It is a tragedy,
This travesty
An infinite loop that bends you reticent and
Makes-of you- a fool

Nobody sees that I am forced to play monochrome  
I try to make them see
Try to make them hear me
But do they see me?

Do they hear me?
Whichever guise I take
I am debased
My blueprints shrivelled

They tell me I’m no jazz musician and
That my graphic novel is a work of fiction  

But God challenges me to be the best
That’s why he obstructs me
Wraps my voice in barb wire and makes me

Strive

Why he makes me stand on yellow pages
And like Icarus, reach for the sun

The burden of want strangles these lungs
Restricting me
Stapling my wings to the fringes
Forcing me to the less than I ought to be

Oh this omnibus !
I stroke the Queen’s Nose and want for Bernard’s Watch

And It only curdles,
This urge
To grab the map and wrap it in verse
Introduce colour to a puddle
And watch it blunted by the current

As I’m stuck  running semicircles
Whilst the earth does a full turn

End

EIGHT OKTAS

Walked out the door.

First thing that hit me
was an isobar.

Right in the right eye.

A weather map had fallen
out of the blue sky.

A row of black *****
lying in the back yard.

A star perched
upon a roof top.

A warm front
lay across the road

in a solid red line
with red semi-circles

which shortsightedly I
had almost fallen over.

An occluded front
lay perfectly balanced

upon a low wall
upon which graffiti scrawled:

"Up de Rids!"

Their fanaticism
badly misspelled.

Weather! Whatever!

I tried to put on
a brave front

but it was no use.

There were tears.

Here, here and:
. . . here.

*

Complete cloud cover (eight oktas).

In meteorology, an okta is a unit of measurement used to describe the amount of cloud cover at any given location such as a weather station. Sky conditions are estimated in terms of how many eighths of the sky are covered in cloud, ranging from 0 oktas (completely clear sky) through to 8 oktas (completely overcast).

Isobars are lines on a weather map joining together places of equal atmospheric pressure.

On coloured weather maps, a warm front is drawn with a solid red line with red semicircles.

Symbol for rain is a black ball and the symbol for snow is a star, then you know sleet will be a ball plus a star, and two, three or four ***** denotes heavier rainstorms.

Who is the Hero?
A vague face of pride,
A gray arrow of a judgmental justice.
The Hero flies a flag of feigned ignorance,
Forever flat against the unfortunate and
Bent around the poor.

If the Hero knew what was good for us
No one would live near the other;
Realistically this has little gravity, with wings
Spread and weight
Spread across a space of white specs.

At least might the Hero heal violence,
But every birth is he slain in jealousy.
So, for a Hero, we must preserve evil
And so must he.
We embrace roller coaster ethics
In all but such flatline heroics.

Sensically a gray string flies such things
And a gray quarry makes gray buildings
So when a golden quarry comes again,
Won’t the average change the “same”?
Only the sine can match.
Shots form semicircles against,
And not circles like the flawless function.

I wish for a coaster to deliver extremes.
A hero of gray is gray.
Nothing will come of today.