Winding Drive
Unmeasured strains from winding with high gain
Anadi Mishra
The winding clock
in this winding town,
keeps the mindful growl
as I wind this frown,
and perpetually drown
in this ringing ground,
fighting, tampering nouns
as I embrace this clown.
Sunshine’s Fine,
as I love and dine,
creative differences in mind,
what posturing,
how divine,
remixing asinine concepts
with seedless coarsed grind.
The truth too bright, frightful insight,
wish to give up my eyes, to see light,
shining blind, an artificial sight
Nightly rituals of lamenting blooming sediment,
crushed under the weight of feathers,
magician’s evanescence
Who to blame, who to love, everything blurred,
an automated trigger, devouring myself as I trust,
sinking slowly through encrusting mud
Striking stones, need to make a fire,
get some warmth, for this dried up husk,
rolling downhill, a meandering tire
Tentacles of estranged residue, collecting dues of forgone moons,
eat me alive, may I turn valuable as food, ontological gruel
Textured motion, in search of home long gone,
one man army, too battered and lost to stop, shields down
Becoming water, flowing endlessly, silencing harmony
Feeling becoming immense, cosmic atrophy,
juggling eons of insanity, dispersing continually,
a shivering continuity, is someone out there? Hello?
Echoing silently