Unuttered A dove through the window dares the elongating shadow of the bed. No one lies on it. I weep. You gave me one calendar where dates were tear-drop shaped. They all fall until I ambulate through the December of my ethos. I shut the window and draw the curtains; this obliterates the dove. The Psalm 23:4 is open. This anger in my forehead is born from some fear, I hear you say and wonder if your voice has always been like this, a lingering finish of tanin on the back of my language's end. A little brittle. A bit thin. The rest of my tongue spreads an empty billet. Summer trills in sync sound outside. Time is one jump cut ahead of eclipse of rays. Out of Body Experience For The Neon Signs The doors of the man living nextdoor have transparent bodies and they let me see - he fumbles for the smoke sticks kept in box above the armoire hushed since he has been quitting all his bad habits, and he steps into the faux garden stranded in some matching potholes. Night wind stirs their leaves. The man pretends to smoke and inhale. Welcome to the city, a neon sign somewhere blinks a few blind eyes as if those can see themselves. https://icefloepress.net/postmarked-quarantine-a-book-of-poems-by-kushal-poddar/ Wolfpack Contributor: Kushal Poddar A Poetry Series by Kushal Poddar “Hiraeth Series”
Fevers of the Mind 
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