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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