Monday, October 13, 2014


little pyre in the air
flying around the marijuana grove
I like to catch you - but there!
it is only a mote in my eye!

my hands buzz
with insects as I cage them
in a lair of fingers
sawdust words grind
in the gaps between teeth
tongue puckers making
the probability of foolish sayings
so inevitable

Linji - !
slap me down

when host and guest
are the same
all the scriptures
burst into flame

whisk me
into foam

there - that spark
I drown
chasing it down

go to breathe -
my feet in my mouth!

one monk is always
on the way

another is always
in the way

which is the reflection of the other?

"aged rustics sing songs
the rule of the sovereign
pervades the land"

these leisures
cannot last forever
but time
lasts nearly as long
as the aftertaste

Thursday, October 2, 2014

cauldron eyes

I am sucked into you
like a zygote into a dark cauldron
the briefest spasms seek to get out
but relent so easily
cos it is too too too nice you see