Jayinee Basu

I am developing a codex

that relates a pattern

in drips of hot plastic

to every word in

the dictionary.

I will feed it the transcripts

of our Facebook chat log

and hang it in our living room

as a family portrait.

I will feed it the transcripts

of my paranoid despairs,

dialogues played out

before sleep, in the shower,

imagined scenarios of

branching realities.

I will hang it

in our children’s room

as an extended family portrait.

To escape the noise

a wood nymphette

type told me to go

to the trees.

When I went to the

trees they were all

taken by shaken

people.

If you have inhaled

the scent of hot

plastic too come

here

and stand shaking.

I have brought bags

of breaded chicken

to eat.

This is a

crumpled sock

stuffed inside

the mouth

the crinkles

expanding

surface area

for every

possible

feeling

This is a

massive fish

with big teeth

floating silently

under the still

surface of a

glassy lake

This is laying

in a bed

of Fage yogurt

so as to make

an impression

on something