December 28, 2013

170 syllables

something to the left of me about to end the world in H-minor


by my right foot's halo a beetle that should have died before winter


in my left nostril a prophet talking of a blooming red desert


lifting my arm to draw a circle of air for the last bird looping


in my right ear I make a bed for nomadic penguins and planets


from my navel I extract a galaxy of rubber stars in May


signing the sky on it's far side like YK now he's doing reds


IKB and a faulty fall into the tank with sleeping fish and weed


between the chairs a caravan of souls heading for Dwarka to rest


folding shadows into cranes a hundred times or more like time beasts

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