The garden path and all that jazz

Anisha SenGupta Yanger

Often enough,

the ziplock splits

the bones crash,

and I can feel the days presence all too well,

the particles of my cerebellum,

caught unawares

just like the watchtower

its not able to keep track

of the salubrious

needs and has put together

a search of sorts, futile in time,

a calibrated onset of old and new, a used photo, a preset to an onset, a zap

a heart lurch,

a momentary confusion,

another parable, exiting the marrow

so entrenched in the dailies but flying high, the lines

been drawn,

3 times over at least and

on the invisible one, the tropics heaving over my shoulder, where not a drop of water was to be found

But Ares sits, amused,

I move quiet

intently,

winding my way around atonement

the belly of the beast

fed, distracted for a moment,

and the equal measure of pain and passion

steady, at least for a, moment.

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