Namaste,
when I learned the alphabet
late in life toward primordial birth
infinite moment before now and then
air whispers sang
from my trash collector’s plastic bottle
pulling my rolling cart filled with cardboard
singing a muscular rhythm
stirring sonomulent dust on broken stones
in a deep forest
Metta.
Namaste,
act of writing
touches minute pressure
dances on clean white virgin parchment
distracted clear focused voices
inside a seed of consciousness
bridging knowledge and imagination
between two crutches
feeling pressure under arms
hands on handles
support lightness
someone eases my voice
a reading one, a listening one, a writing one
glowing ink
chiseling paper
an arrow of impatience
channels beauty's awkward shyness
this seed of day
blind sensations
missing limbs speak their eternal loss
Metta.
Namaste,
Cloud dance
Mist mountains
Mad woman sings
Her visibility
Vitality
Immediate voice rivers
Yellow eagles play
Metta.
Nameste,
Below balcony red flowers.
Thick green foliage.
Hindu temple, slate gray roof.
Red clay, steep stone path.
Fertile wide green valley, corn, rice.
Rising green forests.
South-west gray mountain range.
White and gray cumulus.
Sunlight meditates.
Metta.
the wicked witch is dead
we have the body
who's body?
his body
the dark one
the knight of vengeance
a nuance
it was a targeted assault
by special forces
conditioned by the gravity
of the situation
their thrill of the kill
on a safe house in pack your bags
it wasn't safe
after all
what will you do with the body?
we will get funding to embalm it
we will construct a mauseleum
in the capital
it will be displayed
for eternity
yelling, crying, distraught, joyful citizens
scream, We are saved!
in this Brave New World
filled with love, forgiveness, compassion
we will parade
the body
coast to coast
then a world tour
sell tickets, fake euphoria
tourist memorabilia
cards, videos, stamps, flags, posters
death is a lonely business
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