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Myriad India.

wordless thoughts,
worthless talk,
apprehending the pearls,
from the red roots deep,
picked and pinched.

chasing ink,
the learned ilk,
their dusty talk,
and massive walk.

a woman came to town,
from the tribe of cows,
to bail the milkmaid,
the sister with the pail.

wayward constants,
assisting what few variables,
who would near the table,
either spit on its sheen,
or preside, lordly arbiters.

the blindly secure,
come to procure,
a salvage of self,
to bark in shout,
" i am my own".

the modest grovelers,
untouched by the hint
the transfer,
of bohemian genes,
share the pipe
of vintage, raw.

colorfull sweeps,
adhering to the stars.

the devil, over her stone cried
by the light my torch shared
blackened snot trickled down
from that stone stare
softened in grief.
its deep muffled baritone
the very sound of loss.

surprisingly unafraid,
knowing the pain
i asked
"did you know her,
"know her?" he replied
"she was my child and lover"
then resuming to weep.

child? lover?
what did it mean?
"but she was my sister"
i stuttered,
at which the sharp tail
resting by the headstone,
"sister you say"
the tears and mucus dried,
its hard hide glowing red
warming my numbed hands.

its thoughts touched mine
like a searching hand
through sand
speckled with grains of gold.
"yes" it hissed.
"by the human father,
you must be he".

it drew closer,
the dead ignored
"come closer man,
you do smell like her"
before any confused realization
i was gripped
held fast by rock hard arms.
its blistered tongue
forked, slid over its lips.

the smell of dead oceans,
a sulfured rot
from the open mouth flowed
"so like my child".
darkness as the lamps light failed,
knocked from my hand,
which had begun to shake.


under Dante's skies,
separating lies
from the normal truth,
plainly nothing - uncooked.
when you were anchor,
as we screamed encore,
to the false splendor
of the liquid victor
shinning, ever shinning.

wait and see,
the march to the bitter sea,
crucifying the Holy See,
underwent the lonely cringe,
were called naughty 'singe'.
days and hours
floated and flowed,
like the pretense the sour,
sweet grapes told.

tow this vehicle,
save us the spectacle.

bride of the forsaken
full-tilt toward nothing
the gnome you loved
the child you fed.

sentiments clinging,
frantically to shame
always and always
bursts of self-pity.
"write me a lover
one of pure discontent
malnourished and dead."

lady of the forgotten,
assemble the trumpets
the funeral drums
heralds in black,
mourners bought and paid.
begin to dance,
the hated will go, first
then the watchers,
finally lovely lovers.

some people showed,
some prostitutes,
barmaids and killers,
poets rotted by music
failing bones of drink.
play 'the killers'
so you don't see
the failings of he.

of burning stomachs,
and starving nomads.


anatomy of bones,
scaled and cut,
by ribs announced
shoulders fully bared.

scepter of incoherence
of massive blinking gold
demanding power
off lazied caresses.

the old shake heads,
revealing burnt teeth
after scores of years
spent in the smoke.

then the blushing bride,
blushing in mirth
fools of ages,
a little pretense,
a coy smile.
innocence bought.
then there's the pig's blood.

the man in, enthused
joy shines in smiles
"she is firstly mine,
an there's the nights to come".

gathered are the exiles,
"tonight we join a brother"
to that elusive sculptured past".

Kerala Night.
wet concrete of glass,
under ample buttocks,
the choked sly eyes
alight in consternation
when rats like cats,
big hairy monsters
parade at leisure
into the bathroom
and back,
fattened by feces,
polite in thanks.

the light swings atop the tower,
"come lets go see the fire,
the fire in glass"
a tedious climb winding
forcing giant gulps of air
down unhealthy lungs.
up up to the very top
welcomed by the breeze
breathed from across the waters.

the moon guiding drunks,
blundering to bed.


crowd my canvas with words,
fill this cleared page,
favors you can dispense
but smirking,
the sinful light ,
mating with your wrinkled eyes,
you stall - indifferent.

known to you the feasts,
the old jubilees,
punctuating the search,
time riding the swift train.

crowd my canvas with words,
gesticulate of flora,
fauna crushed,
minced by sleepless teeth,
mime the journeyman,
the slave and musician.

"here lies Sylar,
who wanted to understand."