by Rajnesh Chakrapani
Issue 1: Grotesque
Still from The Calendar by Sebastian Tovar
My tincture – when the bubbles
floated by my face – submitted oscillations.
Velocity of arch, vaguely – you.
Canonical of form – sleep on a forehead
& the whole night feet run through I –
as if some kind of chairs above.
Seized black eyes, sploshes – young
I glanced up – orbits written yesterday.
Trees registered to me & blue rayless –
I desired to sentence of I statements.
Narration – devoid of approaching figures.
Flapped tracery – the flinch of not human.
Distance becomes altitude – Veridical bubbles.
Natural habitats – the same personality from last year.
A distribution to explain myself – call of
“I want to be like –” cotton texture of cheek.
Press of cheekbone into collar – into my dusk. Yellowless face.
Breath from a can A-1986 – I call you A. Open mouthed sound.
The oceanic – numbered to sides & amorous.
Vectors of locked on air – one was two & you and I stayed in the middle.
But when you/I looked closer – outside the ocean & saw
a world by propeller – love the water that is not wet. Just went.
Went through the sun – blink or heat of you/I
years blister & next week bruises – metal discharge of sky.
Wheels you/I said – stanzas on sexual hygiene. Cloth woven.
Torn decrees – the I hate phrase, honey unsubmittable.
Dust under the mattress – brought me back. Altitude of figures &
temporary gravity – in the tiny glass of my chest. War in bronchial
corpuscles, brackish – timetables. Tin voice.
Discovered I had a number of numbers. Revolutions by chance A –
letter from which my airways laundered – mountain of cadence.
Cusps the body – migraines. Top soil of hands.
Cheeks. Animals – imprint asynchronous & melts under the armpits.
Vacancy remember flowers – method of conveyance. Spiky plumage.
Spider rolled off miry – a barometer. Sky a cyclical murmur.
Oscillations by bushel – reel of expressions used up.
In Zamyatin’s We, a mathematical One State creates the Integral, an object sent to colonize other civilizations. D-503 is the main architect of the Integral. Though D has already been given a sexual partner, he begins to love another named I-330, calling her I. D finds through I that he has begun to delay his timely reports. I reveals she is part of a larger plan to use the Integral as an explosive device to remove the Green Wall. D’s first thought is a poem, not a story, no craft. I tells him there are no final revolutions, just as there is no highest number.
Raj Chakrapani has lived in Romania, Liberia, and Myanmar and is a graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. His poems can be found in the Des Moines Register, Sequestrum, and Crevice.ro, and his short films on Youtube. He is currently an adjunct professor at the University of Iowa.