Sunday, July 2, 2017


it was the sweetest glove
the letter M
it took a dangerous voyage
to see the beryl intaglio
of your image

your image, ah
the inside of its courtyard is terraced
and the fine rest-houses
arranged around its edge
are thick with all kinds of flowering trees

fine bakula
nāgakusuma and so on
like a vision

your fingers are laid within
the fingers of the image
like trees in a courtyard
and they create an event
a flowering

and your fingers listen
with their heads

these monster-heads or cawintĕn
seem to be weeping as their faces
are overgrown
by a profusion of creepers
gloves and poets

female kittens are formed of brown balls
with sharp asperities

rainbow bowls
the thick drink of the wide ages
two porpoises turn cartwheels in the air
they are the wheels
of a flying wheelchair

pegasus is handled
with white cotton gloves
in the hospital garden

noise surrounds
the static flowers
with wandering poets

and like sad young maidens
they stand askew
blinking strangely
among the filao