suspended from a gilded frame

Sara Kumar || Fall 2025

If the chandelier were to fall and stain the grass with the blood of the pedestrian I could not would not bring myself to care 

Asymmetric plasma trails; the requiem of siren sounds; the ghastly, damned impertinence of a gaze 

How could I confound causality for conviction again? 

The crack of a skull an imprint on a liver – 
hey now hey now 

I’m a big picture thinker 
A field girl taking notes 
A vessel for observation 

It hurts my feelings when the syntax of your colloquialisms imitates the prosody of my tachycardia; 

But my digits know nothing of this as they scribe words into 
a little logbook 
simply researchers of 
the anatomy of injury