bliss station ~ poetry

slipping into my father as a room

the keys should be somewhere in there.

they are not in the bowl we assigned to it.

the bowl has ruby eyes of some animal,
ashtray & a dead fish. he doesn't smoke,
or eat fish. there must have been a robbery
but I can't point out the angle of incidence,
or the time. the balcony is shitty & small,
he is too smart to be duped by false images
on the internet, he must like it like this.

the fuck-yous of a grey parrot collide with
the roof, he did not have a grey parrot, either.

you know the drill, keep searching. I wonder
why the ceiling fan doesn't kill it. it killed
a firefly last night, there is a grave of dust
behind the chinese fan he bought in amsterdam.

there, look there for the keys. leave your head
in the bowl & take the heart if you're going to leave
the door open, for the firefly or for anything
that feels like living again.

~Ajay
24/12/2019