Daily Suicide

The breathing certainty of ink,
how the pen strokes paper
etched in the rapids of a moment’s vanity―

                            this is my warm blooded yoga.
                              With this ink I bend the course of
                              the everyday
                              into breath, excrement,
                              blood cleaving erections.

What once troubled me
is now
                              yellow juices susurrating in ponds
                              in my tidal belly.

I try to nibble at the day’s offerings,
my earnestness     born out of rhapsodies in caffeine.

                             Once I jumped         into a lake of boys
                              but didn’t know how to swim―
                              a joyful suicide, a murder of my inhibitions.

I guess I was just looking
to outlive my history.

Now the lizard in my washroom       glides away from me
like a dark feather on wheels.            I watch it go by as if
                                                   it were time in visual motion.

                              Under the shower I keep looking
                              for a little bit of flame
                              between my outlandish legs.
Forests whistle
                              birdsong in muscled bark,
                                                       shameless foreskin.

Did you know
there is jutting grace

                             even in the worst of ugliness?

Satya Dash's poems have been published or are forthcoming in Passages North, Cosmonauts Avenue, The Florida Review, Pidgeonholes, Glass Poetry, Prelude amongst others. Apart from having a degree in electronics from BITS Pilani-Goa, he has been a cricket commentator too. His work has been twice nominated for the Orison Anthology. He spent his early years in Odisha, India and now lives in Bangalore. He tweets at : @satya043