In Africa we petition the Lord with prayers
for rain. Miniscule streetcars manna down.
Antipodes interfuse in one colossal
butterfly of oblivion alighting on an aircraft carrier.
Crystalline, fluorescent blue nanoflowers, hummingbird
hypnotherapy, Rocky Mountain scrimshaw swordcane.
Instead of looking at the cathedral I photographed it
and then put the photos in an album I rarely look at.
My nakedness is a suit of bricks. A detective paperback
jammed in my back pocket, its pages riffling.
When you launch the silo-housed missiles of your inchoate feelings,
the snake-charmers and fire-eaters will be smithereened.
A lakeside cabin where a man writes a novel about
a lakeside cabin where a man writes a novel about...
top photo: cathedral made entirely of trash, built by Justo Martinez, Madrid, Spain
bottom photo: Le Palais Idéal, made entirely of collected stones, built by the postman Ferdinand Cheval, Hauterives, France
"The thinking of art seems final when / the thinking of God is smoky dew." --Wallace Stevens
RépondreSupprimerFrom "The Man With the Blue Sitar," is it not?
RépondreSupprimerDrop in any time, Raj.