Devika Mathur writes

Resurrection- 

A death star dissects my white bare skin
And lanterns of judgments evolve like the zombies of oblivious sand
The peppermint of the next hour circulates in my iris,
Unconsolidated reverie of prayers,
asking the same coherent word.
Promises, a fallen star, destruction
all are in symmetry if one leaves other stays
Inch by inch I grow old, I see old music swaying on my freckled palms
Day by day, something occurs.
Numbness, lust, numbness. A prostitute cries and seduces.
I revolve around your milky lie, willing and wishing.
Thistles and apples grow across my ceilings, and the moment is a serenity.
I count my blood day and night, counting back and forth
to detect a sacrosanct lie, to detect a dead emotion
Illusions, Temple-bells, deaths, births, Bible verse,
I savour the ink and spray a molecule of each on my strawberry neck,
flavours and index of fortune float in the melancholic ebb.
The winter winds throw tantrums and my ex-lovers burn in disgust,
burning half lit cigarettes onto my fallen dying lips, making my body into ash.
Chopping and chopping the undone mistakes,
Probing into fathoms of undissolved wax of recurring spindle collision.
 
 And I smoked my last cigarette Tuesday... -- Tina Poe