a runnel swims hushed, growing Poems
and vines hiss beneath the cement since they
have little to provide to civilized order,
tilting farther and farther away from sanity
for they know not the laws of aesthetic
facades. wound tightly, they frame distance

against there where wound arrived from
only to learn of dispersed debris. my marooned
gut overflows All around the hollow words
weeping i have wrangled them. watered frames
learnt that gaps in my spine formed a net from
mucus and bile. the reddened net caught pain

and cleaved skin from my shoulders so that i
could remain afloat. my tongue knew not of laws
it could be butchered by. does an entrail not
outline a rotten scream? the road
expands. the photograph

drowns unseen.

by Nihira

---

Title after Eunice de Souza, Don’t Look For My Life In These Poems.