little Buddha fondled my heart with sunshine
Love and Peace to you all

Nobody's business

Besotted by impish stupidity
of sultry feminine quality.
Sputtering useless guile,
gnawing on bits of
purposelessness;
Of turmoil caked on surfaces
present,yet
only trite and vacant.
Of coal black thought,
of hopeless chatter at
nothingness,

Enchanted by uneducated guesses
of a garbled rich, dense
perfume of the futile muse.
Damned would be too strong,
perhaps volatile
perhaps obliterated
perhaps smashed upon a shore
where your feet don't sink in.

Exiled by the own inner sense,
of ought and naught colliding.
Of sinking stink contrived
into heart beats
heavy feet
sweetness like a burn
and a question shot to heaven.
The pantry of a godless answer
of a naughty promenade lacking justice
of a suitor dressed in
jaded wishes
presuming
persuasion
exasperated by the elegant
desire perspired on stone.

Wooed gloomy by self as woman
chided nastiness as glass on
a split floor
close to a word like love.
Take an ax
chop up the knowledge
chew it, spit it, burn in to ash
make a tint
use it for ink on the tatty
tattoo.
Licking chuffed lips
at the indecent scent of diligence
of illiterate options
of jagged skin
of vacant possibilities.

A womb divided in many parts
the innards of inhospitable existence
assessment battle ship and glory
missing
Not much between nose and toes
they said about it
political correctness take
the bazooka 49 and hit the high road
lickedy split,
don't get caught without a thank you
for the back stab on the way out.

Who said it for innocence?
Did it gain acclaim?
Did it foster prosperity??
Did it conquer all that it possessed?
Somehow doubt would be the guesser.
Rigged up like buttercups and honey bees on
fossil fuel.
Wouldn't it be the embarrassed
to get nicked of a dime.
Wouldn't the lime light be just as
audacious?
Disputable?
Exonerated?
Phantasmal in an unknown dictionary beside
god itself.

Well...there is no ship like a sinking one.
No building like a falling one.
No person like a dying one.
This among the tycoons crib-less child.
Harboring no necessity to abolish
tree bashing
whale eating
spirit devil need.

Good Maud in her burnt apron
good Maud in her best bloody frock
watches pieces enter into un-named
places.
Of no return
looking back ass-ward at nature's
phantasmal point of orgasm
What did she know about
Bones and soil?
What did she know about
smoke and sky?
About wind and shrapnel?
Mother's milk and stale cookies.

Humor as thick as dried whiskey,
3 teaspoons of moral hangover,
four bruises,
eight stitches upper brow,
Cant sweep it under the carpet.
You'd be the looser in a circle
of competitive idiocy to do so.
Granted the ghost offers its wish,
a white flag
could
perhaps
unfurl.
Neither- nor
think again
Boom.

Submerged in the diversity of insanity
Close to the brink of knowing what
and who holds the key to the plausible
Witness.

On the banks of the river flowing,
Watching the trickle and flow go by
above the bottoms, where slow rocks
and greened living things only pause.
Too fast to see a reflection on the surface.
Shallow enough to wet easily the floor of
both hand and broken shale bed.
The day, not bright nor gloomy, somewhere betwixt.
Neither cold nor warmth, but that
comfortable soft of a morning after
Making love
or a late spring evening at a cafe.
Hair slightly blowing.
Not wanting to go back.
wanting to just be here, until darkness
hides the hills beyond.
Or crushes all the somber thoughts out
Entirely.
Maybe it would take days-
Days that aren't available.
Days taken up with the usual
Mundane but thankful coffee routine
Days at the gas pump, paying ten bucks
for the days movements here and there.
Days dreaming of reaching those
Goals, of doing those things
that get put off into some
Kind of desire box
that nobody gave you the key to open.
And in all those mundane yet bearable days
In all those wise books, where interesting
and deep, and successful people
Tell you...
where to find that key, does the flavor
of the ritual change from this AM
to this PM?
Not wanting to go back, but staying instead
Staying like it was, when sitting for
Hours under the stars with a best
Friend, or lying on backs to watch
Clouds pass.
It wasnt really vagabond-ness, rather the
Acceptance that time still didnt exist.
That passion was allowed to be free.
That the body held its own, even when
you destroyed it too frequently.
But more than that...
watching the water pass by,
I think I want to stay just here.



For my kid at bedtime:
If heaven were my best friend
and angels were like butterflies
and mountains were like ladders,
Id climb into your skies.
If orchids were like lollipops,
Id fly from tree to tree
there'd be plenty of honey
All for you and me.
Id climb into your skies

You the taste inside me
you the bliss of knowing tomorrow
you the kindness of words
you the gesture of grace
deep beyond what we dreamed
fathom hours
fathom our bodies
fathom spirit in the richest sense
love is the taste
even though you test me
even though you try to brush me aside
even though you taunt me to
say goodbye

അറ്റ്‌ ദി സെയിം time

Comfortable pain
At the same time
Numb happiness
at the same time.
curse nor glory
at the same time
Dull wickedness
at the same time
tender fault
at the same time
daydreamer haunt
at the same time
anger-less gentile
at the same time
delight-less empty
at the same time
soaring bearer
at the same time
news after news
at the same time
thoughts drowned
at the same time

ബോത്ത്‌

Being becomes;
loosing you.
No way back,
I still want.
Disheartened,
Still no voice.
Crumbled wishes,
back to self.
Only quiet,
snow quiet,earth quiet, night quiet.
Sad tongue taste.
Slow mile,
too fast.
Heart beat,
no feet.
Breathing elephant skin,
ache inside.
Solemnity,
secret wish.
Nevermore and always.

(JT)