Raj Dronamraju Poems

Stolen destiny was the crime of the century
The unearned honor, the want was not given as much as shoplifted
Stuck in a coat pocket when no one was looking
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I had nothing to say to the painter
Exchanged words with a cripple
Awkward silence with the musician
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Brad doesn't telegraph his emotions
Brad's lips are tightly sealed
He is the one who keeps confidences
Brad thought I wasn't looking
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Face shmushed against an arm during a home haircut
Done in the kitchen because it is easy to wash the hair down the floor drain
I catch a distorted reflection in the silver surface of the toaster
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He slaughtered the calf
And he made the offering
And he followed through on what he was told
And he wants to sip a cocktail that tastes like smooth and carefree immaturity
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You of delicate danger
And snobbery eyes full of magic and malice
Throw your Molotov affections my way
And block the road with your unhealthy attachments
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Whenever I would drive over to your house
I would pass an abandoned car, a small four door model, off white color
A model that is no longer made seen on a side street
Parked next to a vacant lot
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It's been awhile since I cocooned myself
It's been awhile since I racooned myself
Subjected myself to their jibes "If it's garbage, does it float? "
Stolen crowds in scared procession gurgle in true matchmaking time
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A god would know how to read the graffiti on the walls of my heart
In a sordid neighborhood, these walls are very thin
He's greasy and he smiles a lot
The lie detector draws wide squiggles every time he speaks
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I am sorry I forced myself on moments that cannot be forced
Moments that are or were not meant to be
The result is the creation of something easily broken, it wasn't that strong to begin with
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