Poem: Inscrutable

Ice cream doesn’t melt, you know,
it simply gathers joules.

And where is Gandhi in our hour of need—
who took his urine neat?

I dipped a gourd into a well that wasn’t mine…
a butterfly shrugged, and now:

Moses may go no further;
Joshua’s regret will not save a honeyed land from the harrowing to come.

February 12, 2005

Poem: The Call

Come, call me. And answer, too.
Claim your prize and prize your claim.
I claim no fame or glory nor hold
great wealth in any currency
but that which only eons can invest.

There is no spending what I own,
no owning what I own,
no ownership or onus either.
Just stars in flight like crystaline spheres
on a well wound clock, that flicker for our laughter,
flicker for our tears, and do not falter, ever.