It is all after the age of bandbox
It was a year of nights, not wholly crushed on the
earthen sheet. Planets from the unknown trees weren’t
typically flattened by the roller of creamiest blissfulness.
And the night’s elbows and ankles still were firmly open,
protruding themselves like our lonely visionary child
It was a year of cloud-coloured laces, binding our manacles
with euphoric thieves, slow, very slow, in the process,
at the drooping kiosks we embraced for years.
Then, Galileo corrected us, no, the earth goes round
the sun and minds
we still know moving around the mouthy staleness in us
So, now, we tell each other, show me the sample spirits of
your human birth. Open your mouth, more, show me your city.
Show me a spoonful of Dracula, eaten with spicy gunpowder
It is now a hymn of hiatus with us all, – as we get less cut to
more spuming time, we celebrate our unborn limbs, we are
typed as adults on days and daylights.
We are called mistakes greasepainted on skins
Jayanta Bhaumik is from Kolkata, India, a Research Member of American Federation of Astrologers Inc. He travels a lot. His works can be found in the past or upcoming issues of Poetry Superhighway, Zombie Logic Review, Pif Magazine, Better Than Starbucks, Mad Swirl, Poppy Road Review, Vita Brevis Journal, Cajun Mutt Press, Academy of the Heart and Mind, Everything in Aspic, Goat’s Milk Magazine, Scarlet Leaf Review, Juked Magazine, and elsewhere.