why i don't shower on sundays/ bathroom tiles greening in my head

59 11 33
                                    

the shower doesn't do it for me,
the water falls too fast
it seems to bypass my head to
reach the floor
like a spinal reflex it forms an arc
with a point above me to
arouse a response from something
below my feet.

so i use a mug instead
on sunday mornings
fill it till the brim,
acute it in decimals
and let liquid lines fall
slowly one by one
as they poem my scalp,
i can control it's pace till it reaches
my april ant-earth,
from here i am a passenger
of this trickle train,
awaiting axons are mere rails,

i am the window seat
with a broken neck/ i can't see but
sideways/ the stream goes
and i cellular depolarization
passive passing parceling
does it matter if the parcel isn't
but a membrane?
does it matter if i don't know where?
does it matter if it's nowhere?
and maybe it isn't a stream but
a red blather dripping wall/ mouth leaves when and where
it has an urge to spit
a paan empty and juiceless,

yesterday-water-lines are curves
when they meet my round,
write with a toddler's hand
sound like an old man's slow drag of
walking stick on a playground,

when they meet after cursive ends
my black lockdown lanes,
they go on without me,
go on like laughing kandils
in quarantine balconies do,

to wet a bathroom floor.

April 11 2021

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