the body
a hand of nature to exhibit
its magical acts
the flower too
a hand of nature to exhibit
its beauty and scent
These beings, when they talk they are not even polite about it. They do not know how to blot themselves out so that you wont know they are there. These other beings when they flip through my brain in the night, they are also not even polite about it. They let me see snatches of images running from one to the other. If they can flip through my mind, then they should be able to let me sleep through it. Strange .
Yes, I cannot remember even one line of the inspired poem I did not write down. It is gone - to the space of non existence.
antique shop
the buyer inspects a pottery
for sign of cheating years
the words they are from the heart. when it is a poem from the heart you know, when it is not, you know too. the heart is a perfect machine for measuring sincerity of words.
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