Shabdrung:-
Chelsea Starr
I'd know your thighs
Across seas
And decades from
here
Since you wrapped
them around me
Peppered me with
baby kisses
And the hot heat of
summer had its way with us
I know the weight of
your feathery limbs
Like my own skin
Loose with years
And freckled with
anticipation
So don't worry
Time is like a child
Crying in the corner
Because he didn't
get his way
While we make love
up against the back door
Our pasts pounding
from the other side
Begging to be let in...
Feeling Minnesota:-
I've never been to
Minnesota, yet I feel a connection to this cold state next to the Great Lakes
of the Mid-Western region of the United States.
The state has two
capitals or are they two capitals? I dunno. They are called Minneapolis and St.
Paul. It’s not an isolated delusion. There are places the world over where
people have never been yet they feel the call- the call of the native that
lives there.
I know a person in
Minnesota. She has made Minnesota what Minnesota has become for me: a lovely
place besieged by aggravated externals. Sometimes the beauty of a thing is its
very anonymous being. You don't know what make-up goes into the creation and existence
of that thing but you don't mind. Its beauty captivates you, drives you,
inspires you. All you have is a name and an image.
That’s what I have
of Minnesota. An image. It lingers and hovers around my space, my subconscious
space.
A part of me wants
to materialize it. Another wants to keep it the way it is: an unknown entity
that speaks, cajoles, confides and embraces me.
A man's wants is
endless. His methods for claiming it, ruthless.
Once possessed, the
being becomes seedless.
She knows a place called
Bhutan. She knows a place called Bhutan because she knows a person called
Bhutanese. The Shangri-La has become a living, breathing person for her. The
beautiful thing is that neither has ever set foot on the other. Or known each
other eye to eye, face to face, being to being.
That’s how time and
space become meaningless.
It tells us explicitly:
know the mind and the mind shall set you free. Reality truly is in the head of
the beholder!
I can feel you
around my neck
The falling snow is
a trillion finite shards of insulation glass
Setting in motion
natures supreme police state
If I were to run out
into the city street, it would only be a moment
Before I was covered
in the blood of my own revelations
There are candles on
every table
Like fairies bound
by spiders threads
Floating in the
purgatory of their tiny votive heavens
I want to blow them
out of their misery
A man sitting across
a universe of candlelight watches my silence
His mother waits for
me to respond with perked ears
She’s standing in a
room just beyond the pacific, where
My sun is rising and
hers is in a deep orange display of evening
I can't hear over
the fluttering singe from burning wings
My fingertips are
secretly searching for a safe place
Like the celestial home
of each other's print
A thin veil of skin
separates me from god
One pearl equals my
life
Of all the grains of
sand and bits of broken glass
You opened your
mouth and let me inside
Where I
metamorphosis in the soft, safe flesh of your deep sea arms
I feel an angel’s
chorus fill a tiny pond in my throat
And a flood beyond
the capacities of the deepest ocean
Tears through the
water color images of my deserted history
I would never have
even known how to pray for this...
Ps:
YourLustForLifeStartsRightNow!
