Ode to Time Lost in The City Without Butterflies
the irony in longing for streetlights on a bridge that dives
into a void & unending traffic lines, spiraling,
like red snakes on google maps, chasing their tails in futility.
angry commuters negotiate curses beneath their breaths &
urgency between their teeth, chewing absentmindedly.
the mantra, alaye jor jor jor
filters from unhinged doors of buses awash with yesterday’s color,
a splash of yellow with speckles of rust & grease.
driving in such proximity that metal swaps paint & handshakes
at the gaping holes where side mirrors used to sit.
waking up to a buzz, & we, bees in a city that never sleeps,
swarm to terminals to play a game of numbers & faces,
waiting for buses that’d convey us to our combs.
yearning for a city without butterflies,
where our eyes have never
held the sunrise or watched the sun— set.
Parasite
in the manner of oddities, grief collects in strange places,
like fingertips—
picking wildflowers from the undergrowth
to adorn the ephemeral graves of roadkill.
on quieter days, longing suddens into hiccups
& other days— tremors, that only settle when a body is spent
on acts of moral turpitude.
the day her eyes exchanged their fireflies
for a forlorn stare
& their favorite star plotted its descent across the night sky
her fingers, tightly interwoven, squirrelled around
his heart & squeezed until it cracked.
& it is said that of all his bad decisions in life, three scores & three,
the worst was committing her memory to music, to scent,
to taste, to aventurine pendants, to kodak,
to road trips & vodka.
