another post for me

all for me
swims around in circles
all mine
all mine
all rise
the court is in session
would you like to have a chocolate missy?
no, i prefer cool muskmelons left in the freezer. to feel my brain freeze and the dribbles.
i want to ride the blind parakeet
watermelon colddrips too
gone are the days of tender and scratch
now its all dogs and bitches
will be over soon
will be over soon
in one quick slice of the lance
all at one
want me magyck back
no
dont show and tell calvin
i want black lace i say
black lace
but a grotesque body is so hard to achieve
i wish i could endure
i try so hard
try toothbrush she said
so it'll be a dream
la belle dame sans merci
black lace and the mourning jewel of the princess' hair locked inside
velvet suede and a bloodrose.
you need the chill though
silence! the court is in session. she had shadows in her hair that woman who spoke so fast and she stumbled and bruised herself but she let her tongue loose \the nights that grew out of her frazzled hairs... many swift feet dancing their nightly prayers...Dancing down the stairs... frazzled hairs having affairs My eyes schlepped. ....but her frazzled hairs, said their prayers and had affairs...disagree disagree disagree it must be me.

coming back to the sunflower seeds
or do i mean pumpkin seeds
i really meant to write melon seeds.
ma

there! absolved.

shokol niye boshe thaka shorbonasher ashaye

sup says pari's ajji puts his neice to sleep singing

majhi sonyachi chakuli
tu baher nako jaus
tula porach martil
tujhya angatlach kadhtil
tujhya angat nahi bal
tu chimta kadhun pal

i want to write of gran stories
of poor little princesses banished and salt
and rhymes sung with baby on shin
of curly knotted hair, river veins and oil dribbling from crevices
of the surprise summer showers when mangoes and plums dried
and the sharp tang of pickled tetul


tar shojol chokhe kajol chhilo na
chhilo na ashadh megher badhon chhilo, badol chhilo na.

do go to Vanessa Tiegs' for some the most beautiful paintings i have seen in a long time

blood and acrylic

i have always been fascinated by menstrual blood. so intensely magnetic i find it. when i still it in my palms, it sucks me into myself.

when i was eighteen, the women i drew always menstruated. There was a pool of brick red beside them. I don't know if it is to decode as shame. I cannot, no matter how much i try, think of menstrual blood as waste or something to be sanitised. It is beautiful and so feverishly intriguing. I can watch it do the slow dance under water, all by itself. or slithe on my palms surprising me by its changing character. sometimes a surrendering liquid, next moment the same pool defined and linked.

On days when I come out rich beetroot, i want to keep it. in my homoeopathy pill bottles. to share it with someone.To watch the magic as i let it rest on my palm. And when i don't bleed anymore, i will mourn. That when i sit under the shower, there is no red whose flames lick up with the flowing water.