run
transmutation
is a snake slithering to your feet
molting
becoming
an anklet of silver.
is a krishna bee come to loot
radha jasmine but making love instead. the law of nature
is leaning, domino-style. the bee on the flower
on the tree on the hill on the cloudy sky.
a single strand of hair across a dark skyn
changes to a strike of lightning
bolting
becoming
a bee that breaks the world.
aye eye I wait blindfolded,
touching
the feet of the wind
for its elderness, the first words of a babbling baby brook.
the bakery-back smelling gang - they are about a dozen people,
nothing common in them but a strange desire to smell the soul
of the bakery. nothing common in them
like the bricks of a sparrow's grave is lack of direction.
reusable straws, paperclips, hot roots, half-ashed papers
turning into trinkets of boon-miracle-type-thingies.
turning
lead into gold
is alchemy is the atlas of your sneeze on a glass surface -
breath azoth, breathe aether
wipe it off, wash it away
with the first syllable of running water.
~Ajay
14/11/19
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