Loverant (or Nandigram year Zero)

Just graze your eyes on my green grass
My words might be your midnight meadows or evening pastures
Just say you like my wordlings
My scribescreams and I might offer you my service
Of loveletters without any promises
Your Highness, my lowness
Is pent-up, I am fed-up
It bothers me I am too pissed on
I wanted to mutate to pistons
Grinding my yesterdays into a pulp
And sculpt all into a totem to shoot or shit on
And a distant night-train whistles
That my life
is well, is fine, is immersed sublime
Elsewhere elsewhere
Just recall a year just passed by
Weary guts were shot and greenlands purchased
Pastures and meadows were bloodsoaked
I’m sorry my nails are plucked off
Your skin never ever intended to be painted
Excuse my bloodstreaks mapping my caresses
For just one night still, whisper you like
My fumblings and mumblings, howls and barklings
Are music to your smile-eyes, just lie me
You can tie me up, and tie me down
I’ll offer myself as a totem to spit on
And if the hailstorm in my cranium subsides
A distant nightplane might rumble
Our life
is well, is fine, is reversed in timeline
Elsewhere, elsewhere
Image Courtesy: Anthropomorphic Sculpture 3 by Massimo Conti




