The anchor of the broken ship floating over this shadowed city.
Indifferent wonderings are all left here to live for…
To be a blurred fire.
I can see some men and women trying to get to that iron tail
and go away from this over explanations of every struggling seductions.
They are trying…they have always been trying.
They are made to try magnificently and then get defeated with a fluffed mind…
It’s all futile.
There’s a black, I can see it from the corner of my eyes…
the drunk birds are chirping shits and this iron hook giving people purple lies to go clear.
I am preparing for a night of raw rum and a pack of wild cigarettes…
I know a woman will come today at my door with deer in her breasts and a vertical stream in her hair.

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Photograph: Kingshuk Mukherjee.