Through Time and Body

Writings of Aakriti Kuntal

Does body cremate itself in time
or is it time
that is cremated in the body?

Restless hours hang by the door knob
Quietly observing the spin of skin
Spewing black tar over trails, transplant skeletons become of days
Flaky matter, fingers decorated on walls, imprints, plaster chipping,
Valleys and paint recoloring marble squares

The shadow walks like a detached face
Purest in the night
Atom meeting atom, color killing color
Softly, swallowing all sounds,
it finds a way into the larynx, fingers spreading in oesophagus
Collecting the deepest lament of the voice

It draws a map beneath the eye,
the map of a noise, syllables squirming,
Rattlesnakes, seismic fractures in the
cheekbone
Invasion of air, invasion of dust

All light is a refugee in the body
Flitting scales, itch, flashes and glitter
All light is a purple throb

Beneath
night slithers
Her ionized hair curtailing all movement of the…

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Author: oldepunk

Writing about my views of the world in a stream of conscience style

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