in a fruit.
with distinct number plates.
the gods here
wear mist as footwear
with mane perfectly pruned-
a prairie well grazed.
a monk offers
a ticket for erudity.
he was mute,
but kept smelling
his saffron.
snorting lumps
of moksha and
raising his ethereal arms.
i felt unlucky
with a clotted spharynx
but woke
with sweaty nostrils.
perceiving that i was imbibed
with a dose of godhead.
i kept staring at the spoon
it didn't bend.
Poetry by ben
Read 568 times
Written on 2007-05-05 at 17:47
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trip
heavens oscillatewith distinct number plates.
the gods here
wear mist as footwear
with mane perfectly pruned-
a prairie well grazed.
a monk offers
a ticket for erudity.
he was mute,
but kept smelling
his saffron.
snorting lumps
of moksha and
raising his ethereal arms.
i felt unlucky
with a clotted spharynx
but woke
with sweaty nostrils.
perceiving that i was imbibed
with a dose of godhead.
i kept staring at the spoon
it didn't bend.
Poetry by ben
Read 568 times
Written on 2007-05-05 at 17:47
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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Neelima |
