Known River

(The legend has it that a little boy named Nachiketa found a way to the Death-God’s house to ask Him about life, after life and rebirth. The legend also claims that he got his answers.)

“Before you go,’
The buffalo god said,
‘Know this, child, know-

A time will come so,
Sleep instead
Of your limbs, will grow.

Friends and foes-
In a wooden burnt bed
Will silently stow

You away. And you’ll row
A boat. In a river of red,
Batting with a strange paw of a crow.

Howlingly will glow-
(Hell-bound, you’ll see) The fire of head
Burning, fingers and of toes-

Closing your eyes and heavenly you’ll know-
The oil of virtue that the god has this made,
The womb of a mother, where the child grows-
To the day of the light and a warm smell of bread.”


Her palm held a moonlit ocean,
Her eyes dreamt of a rolly polly seal-
Her stars glowed for a warmly vision,
Her back ached from standing still.

She took a step to fly that blue,
Whales and starfishes flew to the sky-
Coral and green moss before she knew
Rained down on busy passers-by.

Behind the crack of a small walled row,
Clouds clot where to make red bricks-
The little girl looked up on tiptoe,
If she could soar from her super attic-

“Daughter, oh, daughter of sea marigold!
From razzy womb of a dreamy mermaid,
Don’t fly to the sky, I’ve become old-
Let’s have downstairs a cookie instead.”

Owner’s Risk

A calm football on the carpet, boom,
Cried a man with a flip slip disk.
A coy girl’s cootie in a concert, rock,
Rocked a skinny boy in a skeletal brisk-

The boy’s got a job for jabbering mambos-
Jumbos, peculiar to the prison shifts,
The jailor’s manner was at a moronic best-
Asked the boy out for his glazing lips.

The boy turned out to be a tingly doh-man,
Tossing and turning, a tantrum prick-
In a hinged bed, in a horrible blather-
Hearing heartbeats that made him sick.

Wiggling boy, oh so, scissorly waxed-
Woody foot wandering, a leisurely frisk,
This world, wacko, ain’t a worthy place
Parking, only at owner’s risk.

this is love

if this ain’t love
what do you call this is
when you ain’t home
the sun boy wakes up late
the rain girl forgets
to water the plant
the bird neighbors quarrel all day
munching the seeds
meant for
the desert relatives

if i ain’t sad
what am i
time witch’s wrapped my arm
with a dull ribbon of age
crinkling my skin
brittling my bone
turning my blood
into phlegm
the moist of my silly heart is
gone and you

if this ain’t for you
who this is for
the strut of my heart
the rise of my soul
the bile of my feeling of lone
the glee
of my orbital home
this is love
this speck of
you and me

( WordPress seems to be meant for straight forward things. The intended form and body of this poem could be seen at or )

If I Go Lonely

If I go


Will you come with me?

Distant stars


Distant love


If I burn

Like a star

Far off


Will you burn with me?

26th Montage

This sky
Is made of marijuana maze,
Dreaming the flight
Of a dour faced boy-
Hunched over a nude
In an old Playboy.

This mall
Smells of money, small mark ups-
A steel trolley floats on
The floor, pulling a Czech girl,
Belying the drag of a
Cheap daily skirt.

This god
Is made of none, smells of none.
None in the name, none described-
The thought of none, the dream of none
Son of, daughter of, none!
Created this day, boy and girl.

This day
Is full of drama and doors-
Open and shut-
As if a human heart, a rose bud-
Unwinding spool-
If only, one could see.

Pirate Bay

Why weary now, friend, the white bell
Rings. If we breathe in hush, the stale
Corpse won’t let out the scream, the
Dreams won’t feel like birds, sea shells-

The old, foamy sea when muffled the cry
Of help. And hid in a petty man’s sty,
When the storm raged, breaking the sills
Of the bay, making the brave ships fly.

Home is a harbour, in a coherent play
Of love; torn, silly ships, in which stay
Till the storm dies, skull-crossbones
Adorns the navy blue sky. A pirate bay.

An Ode to an Angel

(I found a very old Greek poem -around 800 BC old- by Daemon Hipocritus. If you don’t like it, blame the poet.)

Gimme a moment, angel
Gimme a minute or two,
That what is taken, angel
Will be back to you.

See, this is a crazy dream
We are on th’ demon’s side.
Let Gods live pious lives,
We are heathens, don’t abide.

A lull and the battle wounds –
Every pain is worthwhile,
Tube rails blow white skirts;
Dancing diva, Monroe style.

It’s not about love, angel
Inspire, inspire
Take sweet clay home, angel
Leave the fire, red-desire –

No! There’s no burn, angel
It’s a dream in purple, blue
In the morning when you’re back,
Everything is back to you.