Reliquary

in the company of others
I can be sagacious, I can
hold their whole troublesome
loneliness in my hand and
coax out new birds, I can
sit beneath a Bodhi tree of
far reaching good intentions,
and iron out
all the projected futures
like old shirts. But like Siddhartha
in the staring face
of temptation, I must stop
asking, like the weather side
of the mountain for rain, or
poems with my name on them;
to expect any more
pearls from my spiritual
nonsense than a spark of
recognition, that every time you
say it, my syllables pronounced
fluently by your tongue is, worth
every penny I spent wishing
on fountains, like heaven.
I hope you're not saying
I'm dangerous just because
you like it. The subtracted
supple suffering that follows
and subsequent relinquishing
of my attachments to my own,
a life I made carelessly without
you in it, is the best breed
of madness I have ever tasted.

Reviews

[Ed Hart]

Your poetry is so much like your ongoing posted series of photos, complete yet partial. Who you are (which is the only important thing) finally arrives in the amalgam; but, like a child assembling a new puzzle on a rainy day, finding where the next piece fits is all the fun, because we always knew that that pretty picture on the box is where we were going....

[Legion]

Perfectly worded. A splendid read. Keep up the good work.