hung in a Jesus Christ pose scarecrow

windchimes the sound of a swollen city breeze

in my ears howls of love that is a dog from hell

before and after the wasteland white butterflies

one-third of my past soars on Garuda’s wing

tapping into my kundalini this rain

in media res the dreamscape of our lives

the lag between breaths white space

not so long ago the colour of silence

from the corner of my eye pigeon’s flight

running a fever thoughts in and out of devils and dust

silent shadows bend beyond lucidity

dog rose as I exhale a raindrop quivers

dead moth how many more lives will you live?

generation X the cumbersome leftovers I carry

dark side of the moon the loneliness that everyone becomes

hot blooded moon floods the night sky

with this blood type no relative planet

sleeping sickness the big bang theory theorizes itself

dead sea scrolls the question mark moans

scarecrow hung in a Jesus Christ pose

corn fields spoken harvest on the wind

in whispers the Himalayas of my mind

in whispers the Himalayas of my mind

in a beached whale a party of reluctant prophets

as an allegory it’s the candle inside the moth

in a dream about cream angels with cardamom wings I put out my cheroot in Freud’s eye

between my hand and the table what could be like an ocean

not a sensible word from the pine but you turn over The Hanged Man and whistle what you can of So What

not a moth but a leaf caught in your hindsight

flat angels how far we’ve come