A chicken hobbles across the street, its back leg
Bleeding onto the dry fissured dirt.
Terahvin (పదమూడ) – endless,
Moons that shine light through,
Glossy fig leaves, eucalyptus and
Deodar forests and of course, the
Nelumbo Nucifera Gaertn (lotus).
My angel, Goldmund, my darling dearest,
Was the first day for us, snow? You had your
Burberry on, our first night? A tickle, a
teary-eyed sneeze, and a kiss on the forehead?
My! A Cardinal has the power to end this story,
It can be seen thoroughly picking apart a seed.
You were never the orange-breasted bunting
I wanted you to be for me an object of desire.
Endings, shipwrecks, and vigils all come after
The 40th day, now let’s meditate my love, my
Daffodil, let’s meditate and sync our breathing.
This is just an attempt to form the
Perfect snowball and hold it in my pocket.
To sneak snow past Charon, like a child,
Satisfied smiled at my yard’s scarecrow,
Snuck up and fired! The goof never saw
Me hunch and launch that snowball into him.
Lips that aren’t ready are blue, they haven’t been
Awoken before the journey, had a taste of mountain
Steeped coffee steaming into the fog, before our sojourn.
Śūnyatā lurks in the corner of my room, I see
You there, head tilting, reading, warning, warning.
I saw a murmur on your lips, did Jesus scare you?
I saw Kalki, and his horse, flaming sword,
My love, my seventh sun, my second birth.
A beetle rips the wing from a butterfly,
Under a microscope, it appears to wince.
A low-lowly tide brought to me a walrus tusk,
I sawed it in half and placed each piece in the fire.
I watched the edges darken and dipped a finger
Into the ash, smeared it over my angel’s eyes.
香巴拉 from the time I was a child, I wished
For a soft ending, to the way, I used to hear
A car screech to the sound of the rooster.
All was unbearable, heaven was worse than that,
That’s the moral of the story this far, we can’t.
It is an apocalypse; the first seal has been broken.
The first time I swore I wouldn’t do it again,
The second time I saw a twisted motorcycle on its side.
The third time I dreamt a chicken with the broken leg,
Pecking itself and bleeding across the dusty street,
The end is near. The places I go are nearer still.