who’s gonna do puja today?

went down to the burning ghat

clouds of fleece incinerated

in how many minutes does a

life?       into the welkin

the bright orange     I suffer

a sun spot,         yesterday

vision      (purisima sex addict)

where the ganges meets the yamuna

what does Kabir say?    love

is the only book             love

why this unwholesome feeling?

will give to the Beloved dross

the sense of         will surrender

have is not a verb         oblique

dispassion         that there is no

poem, no whole but the fragments

thereof      the floating,    isle

ideal                 the gyres of flame

plunged     morning star    gautama

? whose blindness is a guide a

berlitz acquired in a matter of

minutes       ,       steam      ice

if they are the qualities of love

if  it is in the idiom of the “eye”

what dialect the ear hears sleeping

red                    a shade, dreams

like light waiting for its vessel

or who is the “other” in a purity

that “aches”    ,  as if shadows

and the constant lingering sky

what is not meant for “mortals”

ask Mnemosyne        diffuse

the light    a splendor    blinding

oblique passages excised from

memory        a house abandoned

to the gloom “dios es otro”

living rock     a single moment

what do we do with our eyes?

before us the “bright”     a

spectacular        lost in the

immediacy that always follows

a darkening    clouds of

to think that the voice was that

of a deity!       a disguise a red

trapping in tangled folds  “mind”

uttered once      a broken frame

suggestions that           water and

its night                     unfathomable

who will cry out of such chaos?

a photo speaks louder than words

webs of sound           intricate

shaking green fronds freshly

enigma              variation

what                 remains less than

visible    outer     ramparts

“flammantia moenia mundi”     

approach the inner sanctum a

piety                 waves of summer

dashed           like sinbad

what avenging rock?   a pale

shimmers for months    sameness

of all    enters a sleep     a fix

drifting                       the unseen

what wavers in its            untouched

whose face emerging from the

a crimson thought “came” to me

and I was transported to the gate  

what was behind                            ?

an enormous section apparently

and sent flying from the heights

a shooting star        marbled surface

you forget where you put the keys

the Buddhists say the mind was

not attached            how is it

ever?           when dusk sets in

the hills grow mysterious turned

to chalk soft                so distant

the streets seem to erase themselves

a career in music      silence