Soundless Poetry

Poetry forthcoming in the inaugural issue, July 2010.

...

G swung his body out of the pool. Thirty laps. G made a mental note to improve his stamina at the gym. Light dripped from the cloudless vastation above as he made his way to the deck chair. Belly groundward, G stretched himself on the towel. The recovering body was acutely aware of its surroundings, as if physical exertions had flushed the gates of its inner mechanics, and an invasion of heightened instincts had taken over. A clarity of thought in G’s mind; he was aware of the hunger in the sun’s gaze, was drawn to it. 

...

After G lost his job he began visiting the bathhouse with renewed vigor. For two months his story to anyone who cared to know was that he’d just quit his job – he deserved something better, you see; even his ex-manager (not the one who fired him, but the one before) told him that: “G, you deserve something better.” For two months he ignored messages and phone calls from friends and ex-colleagues, intensely resisting the inevitable transmogrification from mana to a mere source of coffee-break gossip. Because G’s job (sales and marketing) required frequent air travel (to Europe and the States, of all places) and shoulder-rubbing with celebrities and the industry’s big shots, G’s fall from grace was not an easy fact to deal with, or to accept: G was, after all, an Executive; a titled position, distinguished from the mass of powerless, subordinate ignominy; G had a team, was leading it.