13. Money is Love
Means moola mazuma munde mundez makwarkwar/mkwanja
Oseille
Notes nicker nugget
Emolument
Yen
I
S
LDR
Old man old lady
Vincent very
Emportement
Tea with a Tree
Welcome to my secret garden party, Willow.
She couldn’t talk back, so she just nodded.
i poured tea for two, chamomile and lavender.
She glanced over at the wild mint patch.
I knew what to do, a leaf or two for each cup.
Her long, green hair blew in the wind.
Mine was cut short for the summer, by then.
We sipped and sat for hours, out there.
Just me and my weeping willow friend.
#9 how to get married
a recipe passed on from my mother’s bhabi and the spirits she hears.
which i’ve never seen and neither the bear that raised her when she
was dropped head first into the forrest: get a group of virginal orphans
right before the new moon in the month of 11th, make them drink milk
of an ox that has been brewed with the final hairs of baby monkeys,
rubbed in turmeric, and make them recite all 99 and the last secret name
of God in a full circle, and make no mistakes, nothing can be too ripe,
and said fast. bring in fish that used to walk the planet before losing
their feet to fins, and release them onto the saltiest waterfall with
a survival kit of coconut pomade, indian gooseberry and a half kilo
of your ancestral gold–or two matronly cows and a bearded goat.
if you don’t get a spouse within day 40, change your name under a
morning glory and pray for god to forgive everything you’ve shattered
or about to do and even your existence and you’re sure
to find someone that will pick you, and finally you, to marry
Ode to Sergei Polunin – Hour Twenty One
You alone dance away our collective sin
A modern day deity of Ukranian origin,
Who can walk on air not merely water,
For whom a thousand sacrifices freshly slaughtered,
On the alter of your holy martered feet,
Could not begin to make this act of worship complete –
Your grace is envied by every swan and dove –
A majestic poise, knighted by Gods ungloved
Eager to be the blessed ones who touched
The body that can defy mere physics,
That pirouettes its way through limits –
For you, Mr Polunin, are a miracle worker,
One swift movement propels us to bliss and further –
You compelled even Satan to allow your genius,
You performed a pas de deux with his weakness
And left him powerless to resist
Your passion, your power, your turns and your twist –
Even when this Earth suffers your withdrawal,
You will be crowned everlasting, invincible and immortal.
#15
Strange musings abound
Inspiration is floundering
Melancholic dreams await
The threshold is near
Hold steady
Breathe in
Breathe out
Tapestry of words
Waiting to be spilled
Vibrant and rich
Amazingly pour out
Sleeping with Stars
Sleep? Why is it hard?
tired I be,
sick and fed up.
Insomnia they say
here full of thoughts,
I crave for the dark.
The stars are my friends
the night won’t pretend,
our mutual love.
Heavy eyes set
the sun is a threat,
I have no regrets.
My eyes will close soon enough.
The Road to Infinity
A tiny dot on a piece of paper.
Too much for one small body’s initiation
Into the acidic abyss
So, he cut it in half, twice.
It would have been a bad trip.
The bowl glowed with embers
Burning like a red star in some distant galaxy.
Mesmerized, she sucked the plume until it died.
Then choked on the exhaust.
Her mind was not her own.
And he, the devil’s son, smiled a vicious grin
As he led her to his lair.
She couldn’t stay inside.
From above, she saw herself,
Then flew to outer space
Like a helium balloon
Held down with a rope of pure gold.
Speeding past the moon and Mars,
Skirting the rings of Saturn
Before seeing the swirling system
Hurling through the galaxy of distant stars.
“What might I find at the edge?”
She asked herself as she sped through emptiness.
“Is it a wall? Just more space? Or nothing.”
“Keep going and the cord will break,” spoke the dark before her.
She willed herself to turn and look.
Swirling behind her, every universe with galaxies within
Danced along a rhombus strip.
“Life is never ending,” she heard herself speak.
So Not Nocturnal (21st Hour)
I am not here
I am not there
At this point, my brain feels like it’s going no where
I’m too groggy to think
Too tired to care
I just want my bed and pillow
The hell with the end zone
My soul, however, wants something quite different
It screams let’s finish this, you dip shit
It bullies the brain with memories of never finishing what we started
The brain begins to cry, it is fainthearted
The soul pokes the brain and calls it a quitter
The bitter brain beats about
While the spritely spirit stomps and shout
Meanwhile, my body is full of caffeine rage
Muttering under its breath to all shut the fuck up and stay the hell awake
It’s An Inside Job
They say it’s an inside job
You can hide your pain and dysfunction under
a Versace or Givenchy outfit, but you still reek of stinking thinking
and self sabataging behavior which makes you
A dressed up garbage can
Continue to strive for Progress not Perfection
Eventually, your insides and outside will be in sync
Exaggerated
My moma was mighty strong you see
but don’t use that as yo excuse to be mad at me
one day when she came home from work
she grabbed our apple tree by its trunk and gave it a jerk
picked it up and waved it around, not one of them apples feel on the ground
they made their way onto a huge pan,
and then with her other hand she rolled out the dough out in a big pan
blew her breath to cook them so all within a mile or so
on that day had something sweet.
and there you have it according to me, how apple pie came to be.