Sick L Poem by Pinaki Dewan

Wristwatch weltschmerz to a party
like a shrapnel to Iron Man's heart,
utter beauty in a vault, crust-clean
torment-tidy words, out of music,
quiet as a dart, fixing the sick
with a sickle, more red than green,
finding a candle to prevent a fire,
riding a horse to invent a desire:
you are too empty to be a Man!

Like a stone without water to drown in,
follow the last romance to a tear-dense
sinkhole-dark cave, laugh at the table,
call out to the waiter in a frenzy,
order yourself a brain and a joke,
seriousness is out of fashion lately,
mindlessness is a sin and obscurity
an even greater offence, save your poem
for a better time, for a better place.

I have found a river like your eyes
that will wash me, resolve me,
in a state of condemnation from hell.
In my utter derangement, find me
a shelter beyond the sun. Where? Where?
It's closing time. Your dizziness isn't worth
even a dime! Drink from the lotus now,
from the honey of the happy faces:
the fiddler will tear his strings.