Tuesday, July 22, 2014

This Augustus Matters

Water & Moth Matters-

there's rain-clouds caressing Thimphu's hillocks

the water's puffing smokes float around the mountains conjuring misty-cal flights
the drizzle permeates the earth, as if to prep the soils and its residents for a torrential fall
these months of monsoon falls leaves me whet with freshness
i take in the heavenly showers cleansed in lethargy
this kind of wet laziness bolsters me with mental activity
-watching droplets go mercurial in the planted leaves
you see these dewy foliage titillate morning tweeters as our feathered friends of the skies wing and dance
swing and prance
like so many natives fueling the fire under a full moon trance
or the wriggles and jiggles of earthworms emerging from the softened soil
where they snake about and toward i do not know
i'm aware of the fishes' love for those wrinkled grubs
have you ever stopped and stooped to look up close and personal how aerodynamic a mosquito can be?
that in its minutia lies a perfect flight?
the manner in which they inject that pincer is the art of a precise shooter
like a leech that sucks off just enough blood to fatten up its belly and roll over- where they go and hang over after the suck over would be a real pry
i'm a fan of their indulgence-
they suck in what they can and just as abruptly disappear
this AM was long in the making from last night's PM by my reckoning
there's a certain ancient pleasure in feeling the momentary time through the vibe and the pulse rather than the digital curse
stranger things happen in such spherical slithering
like the housefly that'll kamikaze straight into your mug of coffee
i once tried rescuing such a reneging fly-
i gave the stubborn bastard a warm blow job
i know what you'er thinking but it was my warmest breath
and then those pasted scaly wings began to flutter, much like a robust hairy hound out of a shower using its legged hands, the fly started to self-blow dry until it had enough of the groom and took off in its scaly broom

i was abuzz
now if there's a fly drowning in honeyed liquid, i play sweet and repeat that christian feat
do pardon me as i'm getting sentimental remembering other buzzers
you see, once upon a time i raised and domesticated a number of obstinate tattooed moths
looking around i'm reminded they don't hang around
the moths are gone
could it be their off-season?
those butterflies of the darkening night are a peculiar pack- they avoid the sun but head straight for whatever's alight
there have been candlelight deaths
streetlamp murders
moths are a suicidal flock
passionate romantics that die of light and warmth
since this is turning out to be quite an insecticide

lemme also mention dragon, and fireflies
the beetles
and the ant that forever surprises
carrying elephants without any lapses
now imagine how it all started
summer melts
clouded flotillas
birthing sunshine monsoons
rainbow waters
every chord and tone
beat and tune
rhythm and jazz
pizzazz and class
as the rains drip
pound and pour
drum and roar
in concert
they rise and fall
meaning nothing
affecting everything 

Boarding Games-

mid-life cross-words
as one scrabbles
on a peace of cardboard
going up
and saying obvious stuff-
like how the kids have grown
and adults have shrunk
that life's hard
that there's no electricians attached to electric cars
and how the weather continues to surprise
and politicians continuing to despise
civil serpents losing venom
business going broke
phones gathering extra-terrestrial intelligence
shaking young hands
squeezing old ones
ordering chai
sipping beer
talking shop
saying take care-
and bye and bye
seeing how everything's a far cry
looking wry
saying goodbye
running away from the parking guy
one chap everyone agrees doesn't deserve no 'hi'
whether you're a walker
or a splendid fella driving a Duster
its good to keep a lookout
becoming a conscientious stalker

Such a Meaningful Tosh-

its always the human that comes through
when all's said and done
in both fiends and friends
knowing the buddies you have
are the chums you get as they are

their follies
and all their glories
becoming extensions of yourself
in perfect acceptance
of imperfect persona
in flesh
and bones
of marred and scarred souls
struggling in beautiful forms
going Tosh
in Hosh
and in Josh
Remembering loving madness
recurring offenses
crazy ventures
defensive denials
paradoxically finding fond recollections
of that innate insanity
like a lost gem in refused garbage
shunned and stunned
yet keeping that shine
until the garbage itself becomes strewn about jewels
of the pals you have
run riot
gone amok
in perfect combo-
of the Good, the Bad and the Ugly
screaming "Blondie"
and raw-rugged-reality
sporting grins
in our collective wrinkled laughter-lines
going "Man I love That Fucker"

Ps: YourLustForLifeStartsRightNow!

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