These faces are dabbed with cotton melodies
A quiet banshee stirs, her fluttering lunar gown 
sweeping stars, a hose inundating burnt lungs

I am clockwork, spindles and needles, 
against an atmosphere of blooming black, 
My stomach, rigid thistle , begins to part near the right quarter, 
slowly undraped,
layers of skin are layers of dust, 
they have never been otherwise except in the eye, 
the eye of this fool

I stand like justice, blemished
my soft arms are weighing scales, a moth in the left, 
a moth in the right
Moth, green, orgasmic fields swaying in mustard warmth, 
incantations of breath
Moth, red, tickling, spoons of liquid blood levitating, 
shaved twisted jaws

I scratch the language on my volatile croissant chest, 
tongues like ribbons hurrying in the directions that escape this 
world into iota, all perceivable realms like a swiveling staircase 
in these sedimented bones

I swing, blinded, suffocated, an ambushed pendulum,
 life and death resembling each other, life and death
like siblings now, 
husk and colossal heat, thermodynamic eulogies

I am a swing, hush now, listen to the motions of energy, 
stand in complete rapture, 
these bars of time are now arrows in my mouth, 
that fell too early, 
listen now       as the caged bird comes out
her song         a wallowing question mark

Image and Poem © Aakriti Kuntal
#napowrimo Prompt: Caged Bird - Maya Angelou

3 thoughts on “The-Pendulum-Is-An-Organism

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