it’s the poetry of lost
people
we’re looking for
we don’t need to look for the poetry
of anyone we’ve already found
their words are accessible
everywhere
they’re so abundant we trip
over them like tripping over rocks
on an unpaved road
the poetry of lost people
is like air
ethereal
it disappears before we touch it
-- offbeatjim
12/28/2009
PLEASURE by Subhankar Das
PLEASURE
Who wants to recover
As if to get back to the normal state
The sharpness of the smoke that burns the eyes will abate
Will the heart call all the birds and talk
Deliver a great speech about the usefulness of a heavy wing
All the muscles of the leg will one day know
all the artistry of a failed flight
As the white of the teeth becomes familiar with the
free and easy parched-peas like this
Ages passed on account of prestige and
position or weight and importance just like a dog
As the fear and the whiteleciousness pry at every step they
cannot get familiar
or knowing everything to enjoy defeat they munch on time
This very pleasure he also knew halogen lights lie like the moonlight
The accounts of the day are drying up
and we have decorated all sides with wings
Monday, May 10, 2010
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