CANADA

anishmajumdar@hotmail.com 

Gimme Money

On the Left Bank, poverty paints perfect
Whorls of dirt-gray lust, navy scents
we survive off broken pen tips and old pate
resigning ourselves to sweet young decay

To never taste the neon buzz
nor rush upon river-clad thighs
to wake up Manhattan proper (Village-pumped sump)
with nothing but crabs scabs and sand

Paint me a portrait
with potato sacks for Polo
and destitution estrogens for my induced halo

Love me dear Sicily
won't you please spread legs?
Show me femininity buzz me some symmetry
write me some poetry

Open up infinity

Boil up antipasto with tinfoil tureens
slice up green radishes with tobacco pickers
spread out Dollarama ragu
set table for 200
let true friends feast

trade in rebellion for central heating

Lady Linda

She of the creamy skin
has a swan neck

She walks like a ballerina
fresh-heeled inspiration an Diana fragility

Lately we trade quick glances
Hidden smiles underneath embroidered scarves

M`lady cannot grasp longing
She'll never know me
Not the nights of twisting rubber
nor the pitiful stabs at sweat-soaked prose
(all crushed underneath Morrison posturings/ slouchy Dylan)

What knows the noble heart of Dollar-store feastings?
(I eat the dolphin with the tuna)
Of taped-glass frames, 50 cent fries
Of heartburn-loss amidst the hour-long waits?

Banbi walks unscathed with 12-inch gold pumps

I look anyway
I taste half-second honey
and envision velvet encounters on St. Laurent rooftops
naked neutrality
foetal beauty
leopard hunting with ivory staffs
awake you old bear

taste the wide world

Catfish

swarming like roaches
bashing about like idiots, soundless Valhalla
Brave boys spear `em like devils
piranha mash come noontime

I came with a distanced love
bathed in Greyhound afterburn
the Gents hum stiff trills
the birds squark and caw
Kaitlyn flicks over to me (seconds on my broken lip)
a mistake

I get scared by the surf that night
creeping closer `til the water breaks, then zooming back to trashcan safety

I saw a girl in a lamé dress playing with her little boy
a son, a brother, sand games in piercing sunlight

We had sex amidst friction and bashful creaks
lying there, spent, she smokes quietly
A girl to show off

I tell you, until my skin crushes each piece fully
until I breathe like a rapacious demon
sight superseen, I'll dodge, bob and Run

In these fishy streets I can do no wrong 

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