The machine gun motor boat incited recollection:
Black plumes pulsing out of cylindrical pipes, spitting ember
Boatman tugging on the aquamarine rope, bred with mildew
Swampland high tide purging the industrial hull, rudder clutched–a trail of evaporation

I am wed to the life i promised to dread:

The altar is a waterway rippled with torch lights,
Eroding the sediments of cohabitation
Embankments cultivate water buffaloes,
Polythene headgear and stretching mozzarella
FB post similes 21 tourists into Rohingyas,
Shipyard surging like the orchestra of a soviet, unaccompanied by conductor

The groves can see themselves falling off the saline cliffs–
Starlight guiding us through columns of low hanging fruit,
Crew-boy bucketing water out of engine room,
Bamboo oar rowing against a militia of opportunity.

Advertisements

One thought on “Couture I: The Sleeves Of Tradition

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s