by Martin Kovan
In A Tibetan Gompa Hanging Between Worlds two-and-a-half days fasting Nyung-Ne retreat hours of chanting prostrations no food water pleasures to fall from hours, years of life shed smelly weathered skins dredging the wood-floor old leather women lower themselves bone-sacks to earth eyes tender opalescent sadness of love/ death: Everything is born in them. The spirit hums hurts 10,000 demons flaying self caught in split-motion machinery of mind an unimagined physics each thought married to value burdened by judgement generating death-in-life habitually what cares world of tongues bomb fat finance o teach us courage to plant slight nourishment without any seed. Indian Himalaya Kālidāsa’s Thirst to A.S. The rain which comes down hopelessly pursuing itself hunger for the woman fierce gopi-girl these words fragment of torn stuff rachitic curtain put up against far plain knotted space between us masque (for dancing) another veil like this rain shot through with holes – the first to come in months. Andhra Pradesh |