What are these dots on the street?
What are these thoughts that I keep?
Spend my days watching
pastel faces drip into plastic vases;
Spend my nights reciting
Hammurabi’s code to a broken toe.
He spends his Mondays in brooks brother’s shirts,
conducting medicine free home births.
He spends his Sundays orchestrating foreign insurrections,
doling out GlaxoSmithKline injections.
Abstract animals desecrate jungles.
I separate stone to make myself whole.
Prosecute me, if need be.
I got something resembling sleep on the bus.
Vikrant Sunderlal Chandel split his formative years between Bangalore and Boston. He is a recent Wesleyan graduate who writes, acts, sculpts and interns. Find him sipping ice tea at your local Thai restaurant.