words stick in the air / like sneeze on glass / thousand

pointy lights point at it to make its point / of knowing

each word has wrestled a stranger's mind into an unseen

submission / it's on my tongue, this wet / to lick the glass

clean / amylase ameliorate animate / but thousand pointy

lights point at it to make its point / this tongue this atlas

keeping my head from caving in / this tongue this conveyor

felt pinkpricked with my krishna gape / this tongue that wants

to lick the glass so hard it shatters & thousand lights prismly

pass it to become a million dazzles / but only after it has sunk

me in its silent blindness / of a mere spectator's spectral energy

~Ajay
11/12/2020