cento/collage poem 1

Bring me your pain, love.

We are each other’s harvest.

We are the only two,

in the world,

awake.

So how come we can’t touch

when we hurt most?

The love which us doth bind

is the conjunction of the mind

and opposition of the stars.

Let me put it this way:

I’d tear a map and be right next to you.

10 tanka for the krishnas

DISCLAIMER: i do not want to join the hari krishnas, nor will i. that being said, i do love watching them. here are 10 tanka for the krishnas.

hari krishna ha

ri krishna hari krishna

hari krishna ha

ri krishna hari krish

the droning, chiming

the bells, the drums, the humming

the tonedeaf voices

they will beg me to join them

secretly i will want to

shaven barren skin

scratchy stubble on white scalps

crescent moon ears sticking out

grass pokes through the ashy dirt

the sun bears down on bare ness

i ask savanah

how much money would you pay

me to go over

and shake it with the krishnas

she doesn’t have anything

**played with actual bells

cha-ching cha-ching cha

cha-ching cha-ching cha-ching cha

cha-ching cha-ching cha

cha-ching cha-ching cha-ching cha

cha-ching cha-ching cha-ching cha

i’m not going to join

i just think they look happy

and i like the robes

even if they are a cult

although i’m not sure what’s true

the chimes of the bells

tumble out of unison

almost comically

the illusion disappears

a moment of discomfort

i pick up the card

hari krishna’s fiftieth

anniversary!

it’s only been 50 years???

i thought this shit was ancient!!

it looks so easy

to just dance around all day

and proselytize

to freak out my family

and take a new sanskrit name

a man suspended

cops swing him by all four limbs

the park screams and howls

the krishnas stop playing

but for one final jingle

announcement

excited to announce i will soon be published in The Spectre Review lit mag!! it feels incredible to receive that acceptance email while studying poetry at the Writers In New York program at NYU, and also on the heels of winning the UMW Academy of American Poets prize. everything’s coming up aliza.