Poetry writes you well
Seasonally gifting shoelaces to tie,
Friendly,
The falsity of this twisted head.
In little pages poetry arrives
In lesser folds poetry folds
Into your youful towels.
Poetry gets scooped up
The smallest of your combs
Wipes off well in the pages
Where poetry rests.
How easy then, for poets
To become friends.
Now and then ,
between the finest unfolding of a day,
I meet the cat ;
In the shadow of the trees,
Flare of the sun,
Or the secretive parting of brown leaves.
Somewhere after succeeding a few fish bones
Then encumbered in the carcass of white soil
I find it absorbed in his self ,
With his heart ruminating
Like a bee.
Yet ,continually he scrapes his claws against the gulmohar tree
Pursuing the sun all day.
Now I see him,
Then it is lost somewhere.
In the softening evening sun, crimsoned he plays
Caressing his white paws
Fisting the night in tiny blobs
Then diffusing them all over this infinity.
I
my significance was in clouds
In living relics of human footsteps
My significance
Embodied wholly in newly harvested crops
In the peeping endless meadows by the throughway sides, and
In playgrounds.
My significance was in
today.
My significance was only
In blood bathed hecatombs.
II
Across the multitudinous ,
the sun comes out
Littering on walls
Of schools shut.
Littering on
earth scraping ploughs.
Littering on the runaway kid's
Blood draped school uniform.
III
Strange evening settles down.
Softening sun spreads over meadows
Alights in the backyard,
Piercing the parted leaves.
Only a lone crow sits
By the mourning house.
Scared to caw.
Lest ,the wailing mother wakes up
Who now sleeps,
fatigued in mourning
Over the son she just lost.
Over me stranger, a sky of fillets in muse,
Dearest rain amuses its arrival
Mad girl comes unkempt, hers not bathed
Of what fearful muse, do you protrude your colorful fangs?
Over me dearest stranger, dressings in orange
Orange aunts that bought orange houses, their terraces
A sight for urchins, Ones who lost their nights over few baths and skirts
Physic unbidden, a cello which stares back unstirred.
Fisting their ages in pearled shakes , crisscrossed palms
Difficult that defects, never bowing their diseased heads
When all with eyes not parted, you come gently in colloquial
Diffusing all the iron and the leaden manhood
As the lone love, the begotten, the terminal caress permeating
Crisscrossed palms, firm fists, the celebration
Of a boyhood forgotten.
--
There she is, on that terrace again
the dog-dream of her bones rests here, alone and leaning
On this old tin porch chair
She never ever looks at the dog
But, always turns her face away
when glanced at.
I wonder how she ever finds out.
Dog-dreams cross her everyday
Beneath tree shadows, amid the blaze of sun, on the purple leaves
Then her last bone of meat is done,
Then the terminal snow smears on the white carcass
Then she absolves, then she absorbs
Her one little heart, humming like a medieval bee.
Her polished nails scratching the redwood
Where ivy breathes her panting, while she races on
behind the big fat asthmatic sun.
beside her
morning of besides
Once seen,
Then sightless for many.
Sun like a mustard, on this infant autumn evening
Crystallized white by her white paws
Acquitting the autumn of its foetus
Carelessly so , teasing in grasslands
Teasing sticky,
Teasing ugly,
Teasing vibrant
Teasing charades with her high heeled bright black shoes.
Then, fisting the night in blobs
Scattering all over the world
that only sleeps
in that falsity of her uterus.
I
you were numb on love
deadened ,
torpid sleep in my eyes
as the nights anesthetized my retina
Continually bickering,
howling,
at
this last rain -
swarming in tears.
remotely doors thud
all my thoughts
in falsity of love
knows you dearly.
II
Say well-healed , say opulent
if you other.
what are we scared of?
Shell out women on terraces
Shell out patchwork of shower
By the fountain-play, where
soaps slip out of clutch
marrying the rampant ale.
why must we take pains
to cross the bridge
over rambling water.
Cohere to my ranter.
Slain furtively, and witness
the sly darkness
caressing the murky dying sun
nobody anywhere to frown
you were in dusk plentiful
glued to unperturbed flow
times we dont deny of.
lets walk back
to homely birds -
tell me some.
my applause tucked
along million pages fleeting.
wind comes splintering
Whirling them beyond
the walls of fountain
beside me
morning of besides
somebody's ghungroos
that somebody left.
To you that i write
your senses i did not
glassy , leered into post-suicidal rain
droplets merely bounce off
my days
there need not be wonted discourse
to you that i do not ask
old and ancient feminine pride
you of moth-eaten libraries
i merely do not rest there
much as silent provoked
you of misty solicitude
this eerie silence i refuse
that it will not let me be
the tiger that never found me
what of flesh in men foretold
in women wriggling against party walls
what of scraping trash off my cities
duino elegies, psychedelia, teenage wasteland
what of him - your vaginal repose
self pity loved many
this time, me.
