A Bad Weather’s Viral Fever
Dances are the old notes of the cool psyche
and the high pressure of some wee hours
it looks like the greenery of conjunction
in other words, the sexy costume of a
Greco-Roman deity that rhythmically touches
the aroma of someone’s Adam’s apple.
I suspect the vague thing, rather surreptitiously
an alien language with sweet syllables, some
feel like licking the toes of the predicament
and the freshest saliva of focs’le.
The evenings and all other stuff look pale,
shabby, confused, gloomy and flavorless
it’s hard to bear the trauma of separation
from a damsel’s arms, if it’s not misinterpreted.
The unforgettable dreams of my birthplace
can’t be excavated anymore, they’re coffined
and living as a kind of myth or folklore
on the edge of the navel of city’s loneliness
the creases on the foreheads of a contrast
resemble the panacea of insecurity.
What upsets that warm weather in the quilt?
excessive medicines are like a fake encounter
the strokes of smoke is a bad weather’s viral fever
several layers of antagonism stare at us
amidst a squabbling paradox or cannibalism.
How can I quickly vex a fury in the inglenook?
A city longs for its past portfolio
people crave for their relation and commonality.
Dystopia in the Bone Marrow
At the moment you are leisurely trying to forget
a sizable and unhealed scar covered by the fresh
bruise of the Indus Valley Civilization. Information
reveals that you’re caressing the tender fantasies
of the skin mixed with butter and tropical foie gras.
Instead, meticulously escaping the dystopia
in the bone marrow. A few Valentine’s proverbs
resonate to interpret the moon’s sickness and
the theory of three Magi’s devotion. Why don’t the
screeches in between the desolation and lynching
shove the conscience of those motherfuckers?
Your veins frantically run with miscalculations
what does it mean when the enemies are our own
kith and kin to chop the anachronism of life?
Pitambar Naik is an advertising professional. He’s a poetry editor for Minute Magazine and has been featured in journals across thirteen countries. His work appears or forthcoming in Packingtown Review, nether, Mason Street, Rigorous, New Contrast, Ghost City Review, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, The Indian Quarterly, Vayavya, Charge Magazine, and The World Belongs To Us: An Anthology (HarperCollins 2020) among others. The Anatomy of Solitude (Hawakal Publishers 2019) is his debut book of poetry. He grew up in Odisha, India.
Joyce Polance is a Chicago-based painter working in oils. Polance was born in New York City in 1965. She attended Wesleyan University and received a BFA from the Fashion Institute of Technology. She has exhibited internationally and has work in many private and corporate collections. Polance is represented by Judy Ferrara Gallery in Three Oaks, MI and Elephant Room in Chicago. She may also be contacted directly for purchase of paintings. “Spring Waves” has also been featured by ACM.