Strangers From The Widows’ House

Strangers leaving the widow’s house,
tireless and wearing crooked grins
- Charles Simic

The aphotic rooms,
windows are its grin-frames.
And the widows wear white.
They wait for anyone claim as God.
The other road descends into the Ganges.
This road curls inside.
The enormous and asphalt entrails,
the widows live in it.
The birds have a common name.
They caw as singular.
A stranger stumbles out of the house.
He should wear a tilted hat
but that would be another time and land.

A pious man censoring the newspaper

The word attains a certain enormity,
taut and tensed,
then wrinkled
before the blaze begins
and the vortex appears.
The pious man visits the following word
he doubts
with his magnifying glass,
censors it for his children.
The word becomes magnificent
and then the entire process repeats itself

Vacant

Keep staring at the TV.
The power cut crept in, unnoticed.
On the perfect black screen, a room,
the man, furniture, rear window.
The swinging cable.
The red ants climb up the cable.
Moon, an enormous egg on their mouth.