BODY IMAGE Poem: a plagiarist’s experiments, by Rha Arayal

only fragments
whispers of words wielded summers ago
shadows of ink scrubbed out of carpets
scars of paper cuts and typewriter keys. nothing
remains completely.
the echoes of dreams and clay moulds of wishes. i can smell the chalk white, the blank page.
a hoarse voice, a dying tongue, rings out from before.

At Dusk Each Day
i like to wallow and turn my fountain pen over in my hands
like a sand timer. i like to listen to my stomach growl,
a chained dog,
i like to wish that i could claw myself out of this life.
i imagine the whiteness of it. the peace. the feeling of morning air.
the unseasonable chill of the summer clouds. i try to forget
my faults. i fantasise that
i am faultless.
At Dusk Each Day
i am a statue, sitting cross legged on a double bed,
wishing i had a lighter. i am empty i am full
i am lost an agitated shell against
the setting sky.

Author: poetryfest

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