Indian sonnet: Bombay through a Rose tree

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see by the railway track; the subtle sleek to its pipes coming down too.</p><p id="d614">Rose trees don’t grow in New York City, but in Bombay, ay, they do. Heavy rain on the streets, on Audis, on BMWs, & in Instagram’s boomerangs, most exquisite.</p><p id="2cf9">Beaches by the hills the sea the sea rumbling its stomach tumbling all onto us. Saline rain fallen, rose petals forced to too, extinct sparrows abound here, hopping puffingly.</p><p id="aabf">The radio jockey interrupting the music to advocate for a kid fighting blood cancer, & iterating how mundane the rest of our problems are.</p><p id="c253">Miles South, in the 27 floored <i>Antilla</i>, the Ambanis may or may not live.</p><figure id="36fe"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmediu

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m.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*ExivipCzhqLMPVHrrmvTHw.jpeg"><figcaption></figcaption></figure><ul><li><i>read on—</i></li></ul><div id="7dca" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/indian-sonnet-2k19-61c28d6167d2"> <div> <div> <h2>Indian Sonnet: 2k19</h2> <div><h3>“Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.” Ezra Pound</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*WEQ-WsaXt5S2K0NUqHj4Lg.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><p id="963d">© <a href="undefined">Zev</a> 2019</p></article></body>

Indian sonnet: Bombay through a Rose tree

Adriaen Coorte. Still Life with Wild Strawberries. 1705. Mauritshuis Museum

shattered into 1.35 billion: part the sky part the bustle part lost

“Bombay is very very nice this time of the year. “

ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ~Rachel Greene

The blunt ugliness of a factory you see by the railway track; the subtle sleek to its pipes coming down too.

Rose trees don’t grow in New York City, but in Bombay, ay, they do. Heavy rain on the streets, on Audis, on BMWs, & in Instagram’s boomerangs, most exquisite.

Beaches by the hills the sea the sea rumbling its stomach tumbling all onto us. Saline rain fallen, rose petals forced to too, extinct sparrows abound here, hopping puffingly.

The radio jockey interrupting the music to advocate for a kid fighting blood cancer, & iterating how mundane the rest of our problems are.

Miles South, in the 27 floored Antilla, the Ambanis may or may not live.

read on—

After Wanda Coleman

Indian sonnet: Bombay through a Rose tree

Indian Sonnet: 2k19

“Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.” Ezra Pound