Measuring Spring
Here landscape has turned jade, and general attire has become shorter. I too wear shorts occasionally and occasionally eat American. Not often.
In my dreams, there hangs a gulmohar bleeding flowers, in my dreams I still row a boat in rivers of dirt covered men. And gunfire? Today's news carried enough.
Fashion, that I don't know. Which shows top the charts, that I don't know too. In the weave of days and nights I prowl rattling the cage. I etch my words on silences.
Exile is a evocative word, I have frequented it's use in the streets of red light districts. There eyes line up every night to catch a ferry to this land in a fair exchange of flesh and cash.
Today rain closes the sky in steely bars of water as time attempts a closure of wounds that bloomed rabidly. Everywhere your ghostly kisses still pierce my skin like rusted accupuncture needles which now cause pain.
I take long walks in wild grass and carry home clothes burnished with scattered seed. Scattered too is Myself after I set out on drifting continents. Sometimes I measure my waist and sometimes I measure my forgetting Like this.
2002:04:21 23:30 Atlanta
My Poems
... link (no comments) ... comment
Watching Buddha (haikus)
|
[1] After watching the sky within I flutter: an autumn leaf in the wind Dark woods slowly sway reassuringly. [2] After sitting in inner calm, I sit glimsing litte sky and trees. Mists trickling down the windows. [3] The day's third bell rings. I already full,walk to eat breakfast. On the horizon first light. [4] Shadows lengthen on the walls. I walk and watch three Buddhas Sit. Behind them oranges slowly ripen. [5] Cold morning transparent as glass. A line of Buddhas marching to meditate Sharing a smoke of breath. [6] Rain passed away last night. I sit here and watch my breath. Bearded trees watch the sun. [7] Moonlight is flooding the darkness. My slow breath scrapes away old thoughts. Outside wind's clearing dead leaves. 2001:12:27 - 2002:01:07 Florida Written variously on toilet paper with a marker and some within memory. Nothing more. |
My Poems
... link (no comments) ... comment
Meditations on a Rainy Day
In the backyard rain slams the earth, in the puddles leaves swim, a bird with red plumage rests on the tree it has a high pitched cry, does this rain bother it like it bothers me?
This is the rain of love, where is my love then? Long distance drowns voices, the telephone line's static is a troublesome fly on the cake of this day, dripping green and vitamin rich.
Time evansences most emotions, do you love me/love me not? And then do you love taking walks when it rains? Are you well? How is your love life? And do you listen to the sound of thunder?
Rain has no questions, it's still and falls incessantly, implacable roughness of it's thin fingers that flip flop on the bridge of my nose startle me, just as when you squeezed me first.
2002:03:30 21:00 Atlanta
My Poems
... link (no comments) ... comment