incense factory, out side of new delhi, india

 

just for today

the position of the ruling dilemma

is under stood by some cracks

in some skin

simplicity is the location

pegged in red

some purple and blue

smiles across the back

a kind-hearted duty

or an experiment conducted

remembering the burn the buzz the fuzzy feeling

licking the neck

            the under-arm

the spillage in tan

            pathways are for seasons

and shelters for minute galactic exaltations

not running yet         smooth

            serpentine     wiggle

to believe in monsters

in santa and any goddess

like munching on that

the whole damn thing

a new piece ...

a new poem...

The father, the son and the electric bill.

With their guns 

they covered more territory

than more could ever be.

Lastly their marksmanship was impeccable.

They new about ownership and manifest.

Theirs was the tree of good

and evil.

They knew the taste of not new.

Newspapers and post no bills

became adhesive bleeds in the rain.

That they did- claimed this and that,

here and there,

black and white

and digital holographic appropriations.

Love of love.

Winter's embossing crosshairs-

being in your sights-  staring down your barrel.

Your necklace a torture device.

The anxiety of all your animals of the animal

kingdom, of your organisms boiling for morning

coffee.

Away in the caldron of the quacks-

who sprinkle dust and crust and musk must.

A gooey hot mess -

all light, dark and regular    proclaimed.

sarah dorhmann just sent me this pic

kate hers models bracelets by me and bra by the both of us

hello family my name is family