Tuesday, June 2, 2009


The city is one grey damp huge slushy
wet blanket.
The sun sprinkles powdered light
that gets filtered and scattered
miles above.
Wet crows, wet bullocks, wet
dreams shelter the hearts of damp memories.

Face up on a park bench
granite digging backbone,
tamarind leaf canopy superimposed
on grey clouds.
Why does cloud 21 take the shape
of your nose?
Why does the pie-dog’s white patch
remind me of an old holiday?

Life’s questions are beyond me

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

i loved it
i loved it more here, 'wet dreams shelter the hearts of damp memories'