Body Artifact

Halnya Andri: Black dress wavering through nascent gazes I see the same wounds, disfigured by wages Chasing fashions, claddened fascists Refracted raptures, in digital laughter Panopticon's of our own creation Illicit transmissions, betrayed by State barriers, parables in repression All superstition, riddled with lead Division, suplanting the dread Asphyxiated, by resourceful; talking head Swimming in the oil spills, among the dead Strip malls and wet markets, lethargic Tragedy eclipsing, thoughtful carnage Pages erect from books, mistook A dirty look for hope, reconstructive overdose Soak in Sisyphus, paralytic progress Stolen by empirical objects, empty hands Lonely palms, ad-nauseum violence Eyelids, guided by malestroms of noxious sirens Tear gas in the coffee, brewed softly Synthetic ooze, in raptorous harmony For every stone threw, by both armies I bask in the rose gardens, black wolves in pride In the riptide, of rolled eyes: cataracts Rebirth in an unknown syntax The worth, of a sworn reject Down to parables, of poems I regret I wrote of motion, stood in stillness Under ocean, chatter: as trees wilted No subtly, in repugnant quotes of mystics Belly rumbling, from seniors to infants I reverse time, to quantify the vision Retracing landmines, through feminine visage I baptise, the empty chest: drown image The doubtful, only palpable; cathartic rememberance Droughts on the horizion, inspired by lyric Silent retreats, admist dying; I meditate Among a terra on fire, so selfish Well wishes, first dates, and farewell kisses In the times of phantasms, gathering spirit To recollect, on why I dance around the root of the image I'm just simple, forgotten, caught again ITSD: Flames to Mandolins, Spanish moons Safe in their cocoons Wings lamed dancing all the same
 Waxing not poetic but waning Kinetic chains Blame the Willamette
 Window pane pinging ears ringing like I meant it
 Nuns tame the abbot Patented techniques like blackmail and facets
 Delighted to wear black masks, baskets of facsimiles It’s a fact that I lack diplomatic tact by design 
I know all your secrets
 Just resign, see this? A fistful of peaches 
A slow tango on the beach or furthest reaches Chance meeting
 Beastial carcass washed up speaks til it’s speechless No greeting needed Roll with the fleeting changes of the seasons Look under the bridge for a troll but only see some poor soul’s tent Hula hoop’s lament Who knows? Old stories told with too thick an accent
 Now not a one of us remembers what they meant Don’t worry ‘bout it back on topic So, woe to the truant
 Fluent in an algolect, I know all your secrets Collected in my favorite alley, downtown Utrecht There’s an informant in your soul, I suspect Take two on that tango, though? 
Flavor on the lip, a hint of mango Sanguine, uniform of snake skin
 Skimmed the pages along the banks til I sank in Under the waves I drifted a thousand days 
A thousand and one nights Refracted whites of the eye Kites as stealth bombers for lice Around my grave, fireflies Write down my whole life on a grain of rice 
Memoirs of a thousand strikes
 Geisha’s knife