Meditation

first i go with OUT
i listen to the sounds
no frequency undetected
so sense, completely without
form
or figure
emptiness
sound takes no space

and then i go with IN
i detect every small movement
of my
form
and figure
before long my breathing goes
deep
and i am pulled by gravity
deeper within

then, oh then is the rapture
cooled to heat sublime
i am one
with OUT and with IN
time escapes
sound vibrates all around
strange waves travel up and down
my body
everything pulses
the self with IN having no
distinction with OUT

horticulture

rose hips
from blood pooling in my pelvis
lavender
from purple bruises all over
orange zest
fire sun setting on my youth

traveling

sometimes we must carry people
baggage we cannot leave behind
no more precious
than the future, unpacked
open
but definitely more heavy

my body is not my body
pain's body
yes yes
all the ragged parts
vibrating tensely
pain is glue
for demons' children

When i think of you
i feel a weight
forcing me down to ground
i wait
for gravity to loosen its grip
but your name like stones
sitting in the bottom of my
stomack
pulls me ever towards an
impatient bedrock

observations on a train

the girl had stacks of fruit
but the man next to her
wanted to steal
and eat
it all.
so she had to eat it all the
faster
juice dribbling down her chin
as he sucked on bits and morsels
falling ripe
from her mouth.

La illaha illa Allah, Muhammadur
rasoolu Allah
aha
loose haram
maim du'a
rum hum ham
i cry with the Prophet,
pbuh
?

Neasden

the indian lady on the bench
asks me if i am looking for
ikea
i say no i am looking for the Temple
she points up the road to the
right
and proceeds to pick her nose

Psalm for Lovers

My thoughts pour and rush like a
churning mountain stream,
The relentless water that rushes over smooth
stones is melted from the glacier peak
of my cold heart,
Your breath is a warm balmy breeze,
My soul shimmers like the quivering
Leaves of an aspen tree,
You wield a power over me I can't
Explain.

I reach toward the heavens, stretching
Like a limber pine.
Where do I want to be?
Soaring through the immortal stars
With you?
Or rooted in the ground, unbothered
and Content like the docile flowers?

You surround me, ensnaring me like
A twisting vine,
Your coils are heavy, laden with fruits,
And smelling of nectar and honey.
Your sweetness never rots, never
Omits the odious smell of wasted summer past.
Is the sap running from my bark
Of pine equally sweet to you?
Are these tears of mine tearing me
From my thoughtless doubts and
Leading me to new ambitions?

But what of the sun?
It sets now, and in a burst of flame,
Lights up the sky with hope.
Yet is it a facade to woo me
Into false slumber?
Is this night to come to be
Long and bitter?
My heart howls at the rising moon, wild
Like a wolf.

With tenderness you hush my fears,
You protect me from myself.
Oh endless night, you send me no more
Chills through my spine.
The heartwood of this pine shatters not,
For I fall, conquered, to the twisting
Vines and the coy beckoning of
The first fall moon.

Ignorance in Itself

You look at me with such disdain,
In your belligerence you make me weak,
The control you wield fosters
My inept person.

What is leadership with a heart,
You scoff.
With power you do not submit.

So must I have no power?
As she screams,
I laugh.
When I close my eyes,
She cannot penetrate.

If her victims will cluster with
Me,
Not staunch enough to contradict,
Which is worse:
Keep it together with spirit,
Or rise up to defend?

If she lives in a sod house,
Deep within her hill of manipulation,
Will I be the beam of light,
That shines through a crack,
Or will I be the grass and flowers,
That have found solace,
Even on the roof of
Seclusion?

What fault is there with blooming?
The quiet is serene,
In its essence it is a balm,
Tepid and placid, soothing the
Eyesore of the realm of terror.
Is passive resistance to accommodate
In itself ignorance?
There is room in the world for stupidity,
It's simply up to us no to test
The limits.
As she screams,
I laugh.
She cannot penetrate.

musings while sitting in a pizza joint waiting for cheese sticks

wherever i am, i am here
whatever time it its, it is now
why worry about anything?
he says

and thus he drifts to dark places
and makes them his here
kaleidescope spheres of bubbled pain
apathy

he wanders with no compulsion
for every diversion is now
surprise turns in time go flat
apathy

Facebook

I see your face staring out at me
A flat form
Immovable blocks of color
Tiny electric squares
That somehow stir the liquid
Life in your eyes

And I have no words to say
No feeling but a blank
A blank, but fulfilled
For not all cravings must be
Satisfied
Empty space can be complete
Without being
Filled

There is peace in static
Of conversations not ventured
I look at your block face
Liquid life
And am blank, fulfilled

Quandry

When a wave
Lays on the sand,
Does the sand experience
The wave
Grain by grain,
Or as a whole dune?

Does the wave
Exhale upon the sand
Droplet by droplet,
Or as a unified body,
Dynamic and varied,
Crashing and retreating,
As one?

This quandry I must pursue,
For I am sand and sea,
And must know
Whether to divide myself into my
Elements,
Or remain an indistinguishable
Whole.

Sweat is my body crying
In fear,
Joy,
Strain.
For as my soul is one
With a greater consciousness,
And cries in implacable passion,
So too my body
Spirals down,
To the palpable rhythm of
Whence it came,
And cries:
In passion,
In sweat.

I heard you cry
Over the telephone,
Obstructed by electric
Crackles, and ever
A wretched length away.
Your sorrow so pitiful,
So raw,
So bereaved,
Carried to me on wires,
A pain so cutting,
And I was powerless.

I Wish You a Sanctuary

I wish you a sanctuary,
A cradle cupped hands,
A silent pouch a-swinging,
To close your eyes to distant lands.

I wish you a silence,
To engulf, to bathe and clothe
Your weary metal ears and eyes,
Which concrete mother hewn and clove.

I wish you my grove of trees,
And creek a-running past,
My silent sister sanctuary,
At peace, at rest, at last.

Small Smiles

Small smiles speak a million grins,
With subtlety,
Above the chin.
The quiet mouth,
Of joy repressed,
Tells multitudes,
Of laughs expressed.

And be it slight,
Or dainty, shy,
Plastered on,
Or wafting by,
The smallest smile.
To me is true,
A passing thought,
From me to you.

Upon the placid keyboard,
I pounded with dismay,
Skeletal,
In black and white,
It answered nothing grey.

No in-between,
No cushion,
To ease my fumbling hands,
No marrow,
Twixt the whittled bones
That jostled as I played.

The ligaments and muscles,
That should have worked the tune,
Were lost,
As empty sacks of skin:
My mistakes,
Wrinkled and old.

For Maya Angelou, and Those Who Cage Birds

Petals turned toward the netted window,

Basking in a filtered light,

Doused and soaking in a phosphorescent 

Cocktail of fertilizer,

The faces of these flowers lucidly remind me,

Why the caged bird sings.

And I want to wake up,

With my hair growing roots in the carpet,

And under the heat lamp,

I'll find soul food.

Plastic and concrete riveted

With steel posts,

Will be my canvas. 

As I romance the vanilla keys of the synthesizer,

The currents and copper wires

Will carry my thoughts like water droplets,

 In a vapor somewhere in our polluted

Atmosphere,

To you,

In the doldrums of progress.

Marbles

A marble spinning round a rim,
Is to its carven path a slave,
Never to escape its course,
Which daily circles, spiraling.

Whatever lies within this ring,
Is out of reach: the marble's grasp,
Extends no further than the rutt,
On which its sullen course is set.

To circumference ever endlessly,
Yet know within there lies much more,
To never know more than this taste,
Is how these wasted marbles spin.

Sitting in an office chair remembering what Danny did

The moment she said it,
When her eyes darted to the ceiling,
And slowly fell
With the gravity of remembrance,
To meet mine---
Lucid with the clarity that comes
After healing,

I felt the horror,
That somebody ripped her
Inside,
I felt the terror,
Of seeing her
Hurt,
Lying in drying pools of her own blood,
Little by little,
Having the sparks reignite,
And seeing those same clear eyes
Fly up from the ground.

A Handle on a Tea Cup

Weight into the mattress,
Weight into the floor,
Weight into the eyes,
Unready for the organic pallet,
Unlike the Technicolor pixels of dreams.

Cold leather seats,
Frost on vinyl,
Snakes of rain,
Serpents on the window,
Dark now,
With only orbs of electric lights,
Lightning bugs on Earth's surface.

Panels of lockers,
She takes off her sweater,
Rippling in his arms,
His hand on her waist,
A handle on a teacup.

Later, yawns departing,
He gently brushes my elbow.
I panic.
He touched me.
A handle on a teacup.

Weight into the mattress,
Weight into the eyes,
Serpents slithering down my window,
Six more hours until tomorrow,
A handle on a teacup.

today i saw
an orthodox priest
pushing a pram
the baby liked to watch
his gold cross swinging
back and forth
against his black robes

Braille

Braille is the epitome
of poetry.
With what else
can you truly
Feel
a word?

Children

Every house
Is a blister
On the face
of Mother Earth,

Her skin
Rubbed raw
From a severed child,
Chaffing at the old ways
She sang softly
When we were young.

they say poetry
is cryptic.
i say
it is simply
how we think.

Fear

when my father is
gone,
my mother puts out
pots and pans,
beneath the windows
and doors,
the boiling fears,
bubbling up inside her.

Portrait of a Man

he drives slowly
over high speed
roads
so as to be gentle
on my delicate
frame
and this from a
man
who will not
embrace daughters
of his blood.

Cottage Cheese

i have never seen clouds
look so defeatingly
like cottage cheese.

Venus

the fact that
Venus
has been in the sky lately
could explain so
many
things.

there was a frog
that jumped
through our bonfire
a little life
unscathed
by idle heat

pecan pie on styrofoam plate
wobbles slightly
the folding chairs
scoot in and out
to accommodate for expanding
stomachs
and waitresses bearing
gizzards and fries

every now and again
you pass an abandoned house
a skin shed by loud families
who took their flesh
and left their quiet ghosts

as we trundle over
the contours of the hills
clumps of mud
like fists
spring up to pound our truck

flood waters,
like a hand,
bore down on the fields,
returning stalks and fruit,
too soon,
to Earth,
compressed.

butterflies congregate
on the gravel road
they lift, like a breath
as our truck rumbles
through
they fly into the wheels

Dust Searches for Me

corn tassels are my
screen
from a lover's eyes.
dust searches for me,
over endless country roads.

Eighteen, and in a Hotel

In flat, restless sleep,
Two beds,
Four girls,
Our dreamless breath,
Swaying the silky down
On the crooks of
Each others' necks.
I bubble to waking.

From the other bed,
Crisp hushed voices,
Unlike the sluggish warmth,
Of the breath behind me.

He's coming.

A male presence,
Hard and driving,
Coming in quest,
Covertly to our
Soft, downy nest.
I hardly believe my ears.

Door open, sword of light,
The tightly coiled warrior
Takes soft hushed-voice
By the hand,
To the sofa bed in the next
Room.
By the hand, I'm told,
He spilled his seed.

But all I hear,
In silent anger,
Dark and brooding,
The rustling of sheets,
Soft wet parting skin,
As tightly coiled springs
Release,
When pressed.

The invasion left,
Assuaged,
Before the blush of
Dawn,
And never did the
Breath on my neck
Waver.
But I, I knew the
Cheap dishonor,
The steamy hardening
Of youthful hearts,
Before time could
Ripen them.

What a waste.

Month later, she cries,
Her body bathed in blood,
From her warrior's careless
Weapon.

i will collect
all the tears i have cried
over you,
and pour them in a bag,
made out of all the skin
on my body
that you touched.

and i will bury it
in the ground like
your father,
but it will never return
to Earth as ash.

it will crystalize
solid, discreet, congealed,
no longer a liquid weight
in my blood,
but a geode
in the forest of my past.

Weaver

braid my thoughts
make the strings
of my consciousness
into something beautiful

Bitterness

They knew they did not love
each other
But they did not anticipate
how bitter the fruit
of an un-ripe heart
would taste
when mixed
with the all-consuming
memory
of honor
lost

Sister Sky

The sky wears a veil
over her face
her hair
covered
in sequined dark satin
when the veil slips
her blue eyes smile
at lover sun
and she inclines
her bejewelled head
to whispers
from sister moon

Glass Wall

i long to touch,
and initiate an intimacy,
with every soul
that i glimpse.
i stand on one side of a glass wall,
hands pressed
against the cold glaze,
seeing your skin,
pulsing,
warm,
with life.
someday we will melt the glass.
it will come swirling, crashing down like a waterfall:
tears, once crystalized,
flowing at once
in a release of warm
pulse;
human joy.

Ring Finger

this ring binds me to liberation
it cycles me back to my origin
a constant flow from heart to hand
pulling me with coursing centripetal force
towards my center
which is a deep passion
a calibrated purpose
a compass that spins perpetually
yet never seems to point
anywhere else
but outward
and inward
at the same time.

sunset over soy bean hill

sunset over soy bean hill
clouds draw pastel curtains
o'er retiring face
of gold

i store knowledge under my bed
as if it will make my
dreams
more illuminated
or my body
more prepared
for the secrets
only pillows know

taking a bath on a summer morning
is like bathing in light
but with bubbles

Incense

Smoke from incense
Fire's ghost haunting my room
Curling and beckoning
I wash my face in it and
breathe, spirit
Like a veil unraveling
grey threads;
the mourning, threadbare
and fragrant

Looking out of an airplane window

the ocean has a skin
it bleeds onto the earth

a deep vibration
soul sensation
breath inflation
world negation
                 prana

the ego is
that which is I
the Soul is
that which Is

wake me not
in dreamless sleep
i rest
with the Soul

Self-Same Soul

sensation will only last one life
before
cessation
but in that life, if one-pointed
the Self-Same Soul
will be one to enjoy
the senses

Caveat

i cannot love a mindless love
yet is it not the heart that loves?

Nautica

Water will not break a hard ship

though it may sail through

wicked seas

and water will not sink a friend ship

though through a font of creeds

it sails

Rhyme

Sometimes priests cut stones from Bibles
Laying stumbling blocks for rivals
Why does triumph cut so deep
Such a tarnished gem to keep
After every harebrained scandal
Someone kneels, unties a sandal
Someday unity will spread
Given, by then I'll be dead.

Love

Love
why do i care of love
of simple mechanics
pounding base

my bony heart
whittled out of aspirations
between my human temperatures
perforated

provides
it nothing
love
my aspirations

tears instead
me from my bones
in heart, in mind
be to who i'm meant

Passing him in the hallway

When I pass him
First his eyes meet mine
His eyebrows
Raise.

Then he inhales
Like he's going to speak
His shoulders
Tense.

But he just smiles
Kind of gaping-like
Hands in his
Pockets.

Sanctuary

Who shall abide in your sanctuary?
Who will enter your holy tent?

Those who walk blamelessly on the path
Whose gait has illuminated goodness,
Those whose enlightenment comes from you,
Those who know your many names
and love them with devotion?

Those who walk without a guide,
Who find no path to follow,
Those whose gifts have been severed,
Who have nowhere to turn,
Those who are chained within the masses
And are isolated from truth?

Those who scoff at road signs,
Who stake their own new paths,
Those who clog their ears with nothing,
Whose blindness is conjured thus,
Those who know of dirt and mirage
Who rejoice in helpless loathing?

The truth is such:
We all come with the faith of empty hands.
And so we are filled
Not by discretion or decree,
But by embrace into the tent,
The holy home where all may find sanctuary.

Time Past Years Past Time Again

Time past years past time again
I wonder where I'll be
And think of sights smells touches new
That will surround me then

Perhaps an apartment, stone so grey
Overlooking a city of toys
And me in white coat
Sticking needles
Into broken playthings
Thrown away

Perhaps a scarf wrapped over my head
Sand beneath my feet
With rights to gain and slaves to free
A child's life
Laid in my arms

Perhaps long tables lined with chairs
My voice, truth into microphones
Alone on a plane
Spending my life
Bumping against policies for change

But most of all
I wonder if
Time past years past time again
I will lay in your arms to cry
Like nothing has changed at all.

Bangles

The sound of bangles is the sound of change
As women work; the music of their hands
When glass clinks to glass and laughs arrange
To drown crescendos of life's slaving bands.
The sari-ed heads which bondage once had sorrowed
Bend with gold conviction all their own
Not embroidered with the blood men borrowed
And returned infected with the lust of thrones
The sweat, our ease; the shops, our homes; the kings
Lay bare before our eyes in these changed sounds
From clinking coins in brothels trading rings
To musical words, bangles worlds around.
"Wear six at a time, each bag contains nine.
Glass bangles will break, then three will you take."

I shake my wrists. I hear their laughs.

Cloaking Caleb

sometimes I am leaning against the rail
supported
while the wind in my face
weaves my hair in a net around my
head
and the moisture in the air,
veils lifting up from the ocean,
exposes the water and leaves me
cloaked
as I watch the bare truth

and he is standing just far enough
away
so that his presence doesn't
warm me
but he is cloaked and leaning
in similar vulnerable truth
his pleas reach toward my
shelter

sometimes I am open with the
sea
when it is deep enough not to be touched
by light
but his waters are too pulled
by currents of wind and sun and moon
and I close my doors in fear
of unprotected intimacy
exposed

another girl walks over to
him
she slips her hand into his arm
engulfed
and I am left with my cloak
that hid, in fear,
my heart

Mumbai

Laying on my stomach
Elbows tucked under
Prop me perpendicular

Wires tracing from my ears
Little veins
Pulsing with blood melody
Words, clots, leukocytes
In rhythm

Frenzied fingers
Mapping out arrows
On the mousepad
Computer whirs and buzzes
Clicks
A plasma screen dolphin

Springs up a page
New York Times, 4:49 p.m.
Just in
Black and white and read
All over

Gunmen in Mumbai hotels
Peppering the guests
Hole here, hole there
Connect the dots, children,
A hole in mommy, a hole in grandpa

Tears, acid rain
Along my fat white cheeks
Falling into the cracks on the silver keyboard
Plaque's built up in the blood wires
I don't hear a thing
Connect the dots, children

Walking Along With a Mind Cluttered

walking along with a mind cluttered with full hangers and stuffed boxes of old junk and useful keepsakes peeling scrapbooks and chipping faces of dolls one has to employ a flashlight to find anything or else give up and shut the doors walking along as a self a whole a closet full of life

Untitled

Sometimes unexpected things happen.
Your eyelashes flutter
against your cheeks,
And I never planned for it
To take my breath
                                                  away
In my clouded expanse of fear
When you sat
                      down
Beside me
I never planned to take your hand
And fold my heart.
We talk simply during simple moments,
But when I am left with a void




and wild silence,
I never thought I would long to hear your simple voice.

Sometimes unexpected thin
gs happen.
But they are the things that take our breath
                                                                                        away
Fold our hearts
And fill the longings


of silence.

Hits to the Head

Pulled taught
the drum head
and his skin against his bones

a single hit
wood against drum a pulse
his veins cold winding up
his arms

and how the cymbals
shiver
i listen, they trickle down my spine
he stands
outside in frigid weather
smoke from his lips, shivering to
his head

oh but louder now, the drums
in heavy blocks of time rage
shooting streaming
as tears of fury
shaking, hurting
his body trembling

pulled taught
the drum head
and his life stretched thin
and short
from hits to the head

Grandmother

The stone arch blocks the sky,
A ceiling to the world.
And the blocks upon blocks are immovable,
With only a small doorway--
One path--
To penetrate the decaying enclosure.

But vines,
With their tense trickling fingers,
Reach up the arch like prayers.
They have only up to go,
Or lie dormant in the soil,
Never to bear fruit.

And amidst the clouds of flowers,
She stands:
A curtsey on her lips,
A kiss in her eyes.
With her arms white and soft,
With pearls on her neck,

She is beautiful.
Beneath the stone arch,
She grows,
Her prayers white and radiating,
Her heart red with petals,
And all behind the black and white,
Of photographs,
A blue sky--
Endless and vast,
Peeping
Through the archway.

Autumn Walk into a Building

Out of the car
Sweater limp
I wrap it tight

It's the air
Like broken glass
Sharp and glittering

The cement is
Dirty mud
Frosted over

Tissue paper leaves
The rubber cement
peeling

From the cardboard
Bark
One two

They fall

Henna Song

She sang a song like henna:
Thin and red,
It climbed up from the ground.
Up my legs in vines,

Punctuated by curls of
Wet dyes.
I felt the paint brush,
Cool and submissive to my arm.

And her song decorated me,
With imprints of marriage,
The blood of the blooms,
Which die for ceremony.

Her words were stained
With henna blood from marriage.
And no color left beneath the dye.
For its vines had clutched her throat,
Like a ring on a finger.

Sonnet

When time stretched out its hand and beckoned coy,

I sighed and blushed and fluttered with my youth,

And followed swift the red autumnal joy, 

That with its gold deceives the mind as proof.

Yet yonder so the groves began to whither,

And with the rising moon proved naught but pain.

Time binds the hands with rings of traitor silver,

Commitments to pale blush of winter rain.

I lost the sweet repose of tender spring,

Fair Romeo's face I passed as it were stone.

Inconstant moon, I swore by thee as living,

And found thy light alone in Juliet's tomb. 

Love's youthful blush to pallid fate thus drains, 

Ne'er to know the sighs of summer rains.