Chore List

Stuck in a dead end.
Death stalks me
           ever closer.

And my stink self still reeks.
           the reek is the
           smell of my own nose.
(only stopping breathing stops the stink)

Lost in the doing,
            my being is undone,
            like half the list
            of this week's chores.
            Chores languishing
            on tomorrow's back order,
            back from embodiment

            into
            falling
            apart.

Descent

Light at the edge of earth
                                           expands.

Blue dust piles, swirls at sky foot.

Flown far now, from heat and filth.

Bonny bonny banks of BC beckon.

Waiting to see Rinpoche

Soft cantation spheres
        glow, radiate from these chocolate walls
Sapphire and turquoise butterfly
        flits above lizard lawn.
Dog patrol trots through
        brick yard rust.
Mahindra tractor, bright red with glittering flags,
        bumps dusty wagon full sand.
Six men follow, five in black pants,
        two topping pink head scarves.
Lusty dove coos woo
        near Sujata Bye Pass.


We wait, flapping incense wind.
I sit next to Aku, reposed in grace.
        his robes maroon and peach
        he swirls beige Mani fan
                        embossed with blossoms
                        encircling a man and a woman.


I ate full potato curry roti egg masala
chai breakfast shortly ago.
But my stomach pits, heart wobbles.


I had not courage to see my guru.
Courage supplied by Aku's serene bearing
                             and Goddess Tara's
                                    bright brown eyes.

Waiting for the Ganachakra

Waiting for final Ganachakra
              pregnant caress of fecal perfumed
              breeze is welcome
              in this happy bake patio
              where yellow dog heaves ribs
              six times a second.

Many money showers from fingers
              of our jet borne retinue,
              clad in flowing drapes:
                            white cotton
                            red cotton
              swirling round maroon bastion.

Time is now shimmering, on boil's verge
              this mandala will soon scatter
              the soft toothy boy monk troupes
              will again have these pattering grounds
              evacuated.
              Foreign murmur tongue
              hushed.

              This heart red dream
              vanished.

Outdoor Dharma Patio Lounge

Here at Earth's fulcrum, baking
         the homeless puppy pants on right side
                                                    in dust hollow
                                                    beneath parasol trees
                                                    strung with wind horse
                                                    and Christmas wires.

This is the outdoor Dharma patio lounge.

We Dharma seekers seek respite
                                 from knife knee Dharma
                                 talk.

Rinpoche sits fully present, unbudged,
                       golden Buddha relaxed in poise.
While audience fidgets and shuffles
                       cross my legs then re-cross then
                       fold one under then switch
                       back crick not easing
                       eyes drooping down
                       mini dull slumber
                       wake then strain
                       to hear through layers of echoes
                       and bird chatter.

Dogument shrieks lash court yard.

Shoo, dog.
Let me be.

Lufting

Space     chimes     sparse     songs
Air         mattress   lufts
                                  this
                                  stack of strangers
                                  upon black heavens.

Our    intercostal    cages
                                  catch soft circles of breath
                                  then release.

                                  catch.
                                  release.

Knotch a furry dart of sky
Spear the stratosphere straight through

                                  'til morning.

And that vagrant thought:
                                                              [why this         
                                                               comes to pass?]
               lingers
               just beyond
               the periphery of my concern.


               like a shy coyote.

Not at my most productive

Dint do much
Don't feel do muching
Woke with snorethroat
                   fading verbs of espionage.
                   The dream is hid.
                   Mouse squeak bluster
                                      scatters twigs
                                                         drink lids.

The many mounting laundry
                   list insists:  respond
                                      reply
                                      review
                                      revisit
                                      respite

  but me don't.
  duck down to dally books and bibliocafe
                                      chug chocko
                                      mental masticate
                                      sling slack leg from
                                      high chair.
                                      flex me rib cage
                                                         like the slender sole.

As me bloated viscera
                   droop and pine for fir spiral

1 plastic gator lounges long on moss mound.