Leaves today

The quietness of my sublime
Merges with faces, talking in
Arrays of genial reflections
Bouncing, leaf dragging down
The soul of my early morning,
And I bind my mouth
Eager embrace of silent words mutter
To me, quiet-quiet,
Warming in the sun, a shadow
Of formless black
Drying to make sound


A time for me to lie,
tossing you there and here
Let the wind cry.

I am the new thoughtful poet,
I shall make you rhyme.

Do you see me look at the sea?
The sea, mucky sea, in the sea, all the sea?
You and I live there
Down near the sea horses with the beauty.

Struck with youth and youth,
I old, I write it on my body
[poet, poems, I’ll spread my legs]
Do you see me look at the sea?

The day gods silence my sea,
Covet my echoes in the water
and run hiding to the doors of dead, brown wood.
Do you see me look at the sea?
I be by the window. I be.

I cover in paper, wrap
To call you near the sea
I’ll kiss you away from the window
away from the salty see-me sprays,
wait. But do you see me look at the sea?

Bright little stars skip me by the minute-
Talk about taking time, straddling or whatever:
You see my common black hair.
What will you do with a cardboard of blackness on my
Curvy little body.

See me.
Do you see me look at the sea?
Throw yourself in,
I don’t come singing in the evenings on a moonlit rock.
I sieve through dear lies
Of looking at a picture,
and writing a thoughtful poem.

You, who spoke.

Writing doesn
‘t ease the stress?
no
soo u gt creative
wen ur depressed too?
no
I write
By hours
Of rain.
The world a silvery globe,
And me its only tree. Of green alone.

Pecadillo

I have just smoked.
Yes, I done it again and not care.
I move my tongue and memorize the taste
I apply balm to the dry lips
I swing I glide free.

And I have not fought
Or drank water
Or shut my room

I want you to see.
The chamber music in my head,
The sadness of the strings
By your very voice.

Amen, smoke in the air.

Preview

It is here, the flowers falling
They board thoughts of mercy to the cold
And float down
Touching to feel the air the last
And kissing the others unto their death
Touched away from faces upward
Sun breaks no light at fleeting drops

MY MAN-PSYCHOLOGIST

Oh, thank you

Hapless man,

With all your love for common coffee and rain.

By sleep alone, rectifying dreams to form sorrows

I can mull over as I walk alone

Step on step without the lines

Dear man. Come here. Thank me in my dread,

I love you in my very dread to dread to dread from dread by dread on dread

This is my free fall.

Look, I murmur-mur heavy lines

To look a neurotic and escape your definition,

You easy, simple psychologist, you want your sick patient.

Dear man.

No, you don’t know you can’t see through,

You don’t even wear spectacles, not even them.

Pickles of lying, spicy carved animals

Under a thin layer of, I built civilisation

To avoid you savages of green and brown

Dear, dear man, hold me and do not look.

Love, love man, eat me up but do not look.

ME.

one day you shall come in,

with all the people you can find

and discover in my room

the acrid smell of gas and love

i do not say goodbyes i know

i never did

remember?

even as a little girl,

my hatred for those waving, flailing arms?

it persists.

i might not leave a note,

then i might

it shall all depend on our luck and my literary moods.

i will be found clean and happy-

my eyes may wear a surprised view

but i tell you, i will be happy,

like i never was

that which is not momentary and not momentary.

i will be tidy for a change

and arrange my books in rows,

leave my clothes in closets and no lights on.

it will be some occasion

may be i shall celebrate it with wine yesterday

yes, i know you won't.

you will cry and scream and call me ungrateful

and unconcerned and ruthless and unemotional

i am, i am.

but watch me in my joy

and mutter me wishes,

for i am taking this forward,

me and this life.