The Artist

The skinny scalps of a deluded window

Hopped on a rickety lull of naked whims

Busty chests baked on crescent smiles

Made vultures craft the rustic lore of lies.

Dungeons deep in his pristine white

Slivered in a brute’s obvious choice

A paranoia chord of existing nerves

Screamed a romantic’s psychedelic tale

Sculptured masks were taunted green.

As sprays were rolled to rosy skies

A butterfly squalled with a sliced throat;

Failing to grasp the octaves of Gabriel

Gory nails brushed a mustered skin

Scarping through the dermal into bones

Knives sharpened in ripen red gives me joy

To wield my body into its many forms

                                                                     Anindya Ganguly  © 2016 all rights reserved