deal me in

her name escapes me, her beauty
means less. without suspicion, i
joined her behind the veil with a
undefiled innocence. my heart
craved a spontaneous emancipation.
a laying on of hands to bless my
sorrow. for this i paid my shameful
pittance to meet the mapmaker of
my destiny. he was to bring me
masquerading dragonflies. show
me angels are near. speak to me
of clarity arriving with grace and
ease. tell me i am divine, i walk
a path unique to my human form.
there is no stronger desire than to
live a life in the fate of one’s own
experience, joined with a soul mate,
a companion to medicate my
inclinations, to confront my zest.
i must thank the high lord of gratitude
and service for the awareness of
each breath i take. in his hands he
holds the sons of god, fair-haired
messengers. oh, bittersweet humility,
selflessness and action, it is you that
makes me affluent in my poverty,
intoxicated with a lust for life. i will
be content that happiness and tears
are synchronized with equality. i
must hide my face from those i
comfort, my name erased from
their lips. i am no martyr, there is
no pain when i share my smile.
high on the wire is the hawk prince.
i will not question his visit. he asks
if i am listening. he manifests my
journey. in the conversations of
strangers he speaks to me. he
has flown into my life with good
news. this is the magic of nature.

daryl and sukanya

he was born with a young american
religion on his lips. he spit it out with
sour resentment as he grew into an
organic man. a handsome man who
fell in love with sukanya of kolkata.
his vanilla ice cream flesh was going
to melt through my fingers. damn you
gentlewoman. his gritty rants of poetry,
in my delusion, were for me. damn pretty
woman i cannot blame you, i am a
cottonmouth ne’er-do-well. so be it
that i am blistered with spite, crippled
by a jaundiced eye. lucky woman, for
you my blueberries are free. our world
is sweet with stone flowers and him.
angry woman, you may bury my soul.
wise woman, my ambition is for you.

umbrella

every time it rains my
memory is intimate
without exception,
of the times i suffered
with sorrow, or the
prestige i received
from ovations. these
are the consequences
of my times before the
floods and the prisms
that cured my yearnings.
gorgeous rain, gross
rain, nourish my
garden. i feel you
in my hair, pounding
my eyes, your flavor
on my tongue, i inhale
you into my essence.
there has been rain
in all my seasons.
from early light to
my last words i chant
for it. divinity has always
responded with habitual
thunder. there is no
restitution, no tickling
the palm of rain. it will
not wait for me. i wait
for it like a dog waits
for a banquet of bones.
tonight is an unclouded
sky with a mint of silver
and a full moon to
lament upon till it
rains in my brain again.

am i not a cat to you?

blood drips from her
eyes. she has swallowed
the braided tongue of
her brother. without
remorse she is the
queen of indifference
and rue. any harmony
with the sun is forsaken.
any tranquility with the
moon is erased with the
baptism of a recluse. an
empty highway is a beat
to the barren embryo
locked in her chastity.
how sweet, this dubious
tramp. i am her mate in
bliss and agony. in my
grave i sleep with her
satisfied mind.

a tale of two towns

phoenix,
sugar grove.
serial killers,
maple syrup.
brown skin,
dutch boy haircuts.
road rage,
horse and buggies.
6 lane freeways,
country roads.
racism,
abolitionism.
rattlesnakes,
peepers.
red state,
blue state.
hot summer nights,
cool summer nights.
hug a saguaro,
hug a tree.
1000 stars,
a billion stars.
monsoons,
thunderstorms.
dry heat,
humidity.
concrete,
clover.
brown cloud,
fresh air.
home sweet home,
home sweet home.

om

my face,
mangled and
serene.
my lips, rigid
and fluid.
my eyes,
groping and
revealing. my
world has an
insignificant
grace i chase,
from here to
there. on my
mala of moons
and stars i
recite 108
lightning mantras.
my fingers,
tremble as
leaves of a
bodhi tree
in an autumn
current. gravity
pulls my desire in
and out, and back
and forth. my
body, a carcass
of deliberation
and character.
from now till
then i will
reckon each
breath.

no roman candles

it was a polite surprise.
the first day of july.
the breeze was cool,
the forest in a haze.
my flesh could not
keep warm my bones.
three days before
independence day,
i will celebrate my
freedom from all
self-righteous
bastards. my apple
is small with a
thousand seeds. i
will remove the
intruders from my
flowers. i will water
my herbs and watch
them grow. this is
the harvest of where
i’ve been. abundance
is all make believe.
in the lap of luxury
there are no blessings.
i long to live with
those poor in spirit.
angels are empowered
in the house of a
rising sun. i embrace
this contradiction in
my spiritual connection.
the ambiance of my
brain has erased all
background noise.
soon the sun will bless
the trees and i will be
naked again.