This and that

In this moment the sweet perfume
Of all this which is now fills this brain;
A thousand angels
That become this single flower
Until that I arrives
And then that desire
Like the shit of ten million beelzebubs
Flare their way into that nose.
Then this is that.
One billion flies wanting swatting away.
Now gone is this subtle rose.
And this seed which is this tree
And this sprout and this sapling
And this rotting log
And this earth and this tsky
Which communes with this sun and rain.
Gone is just only this
When that I arrived;
That one that broke
The whole world’s heart.

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Gayatri

Good morning, mother.
Hello to your rays oozing their way through three layers of shirts
On this cold autumn morning.
Greetings, from your trillionth son to walk upon this trillionth earth,
Whose voice shouts across the void of his own mind.
And so I write to you one scratch following another.
There was a tale about a frog who helped a scorpion
To cross a river only to be stung halfway there,
Because it was my nature said the scorpion.
And while we let ourselves get stung
By orange men in business suits
And pimply students dressed the same.
Like our brown, black and orange robed brothers,
They are our very selves.
So homage to the whales singing across the sea
And homage to the sun’s warm rays
And the cold winds from antarctica.
Homage to the scorpion and the orange man
Homage to all that is dark and all that is light
As you let each one of us, your very selves,
Find our voice.

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Out shopping

I didn’t want anything from her,
So I smiled
The sun beaming from my heart,
While she scanned the icecream
I had bought for my wife.
She looked up at me knowing
That in that moment she was free.
The man packing the bread
Into the recycled bag was free too.
I looked at him as though
The world had exploded from his eyes.
And the people scurrying past
On the way to their cars
Had lost their selves.
And then the whole world knew what it was
In that moment
To stop wanting.

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