Poetry at Sangam
Poetry at Sangam showcases poetry in English and translations as well as essays on poetics and news of new releases.
No door. Window. Only kiln-baked bricks.
Fitted, one into the other, unmortared. I slid
a brick. Blank. Where my hand lingered
these markings appeared:
Once again, Citizen. This is not
a residency. Not a registry.
Record the few and the many-
bruised. Upon your unblemished
flesh. Inscribe. Upon your blighted
blotch. One day
an errant scavenger shall assemble
from these very tablets a . . .
The brick lapsed into braided clay, spumed fire.
The voice of a river god when the god was river.
Soon it crumbled. I held these chewed, knurled
teeth. Now, friend citizen, yours.
This site is designed and maintained by GONECASE