Sunday, January 30, 2011

i'm entirely aware
that when i have nothing else to worry about,
i miss you.
i'm entirely aware that missing you
means nothing more than...

i couldn't think of anything.
that means as little or as much.
nothing can be placed at
the other end of the see saw
its not the same as anything
its my mind playing tricks on me,
its
having to much to do and not wanting to do any of it

but because i haven't written anything for a while
and because the things i love the most
are the ones i wrote for You,
I'd like to think, for a little while,
that i miss you. 

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Nonsense Verse II

well, here I am. 


how did you come here?
i flew on the black back of the poem bird.
i raced down the burst of lightning in the sky and
i slid into an electric blue, echoing cave
and i walked through the dark white and blue
past frozen souls and thought-skeletons
and i came out
into
Here.
what are you doing here?
i'm finding out
what Here means.
and what does it mean?
Here
simply means that once, you were not.
that is flippant.
flippant, like the wing of a grey dolphin
flapping and clapping in invisible chains.

Friday, January 14, 2011

is it wrong, to have a terrible thing dimmed
by ten second absolute terror
of how much more 
it could have meant to me?

feeling like a terrible person, because in my heart i know how i would have felt with the difference of a few letters. how the fear of something can shell-shock you into not realizing how sad something else really is.

until it hits you in the face. how insensitive you are
to anything but yourself. 
and how admitting that
where people will read it
is hypocritically purgatory.  
sympathy, empathy, 
everything, can be deconstructed into hypocrisy. 
and its better not
to say anything, just feel 
something inside. 

Monday, January 3, 2011

Sunday morning smell, after so many months.
warm sugar browned in ghee
packed into two large steel containers, 
still warm, solidifying into the steel curves
to be carted off to satsang. 
and if i wake up early enough, a little glass bowlful kept aside for me
to slip into the kitchen and nibble at with my fingers, 
oily sweetness and winter morning sunshine.