Ganges
Early morning
Rising out of dust horizon
Long warm days before monsoon
Stone and concrete reflect the day's new light
Gold temple tops cast
Daytime stars onto this timeless river
People bathing, praying
Working
Dugouts float past
Barely moving
Oarlocks creak
Bells toll softly
Voices over water . . . hushed
A trail of laundrymen beat shirts, and sheets, and saris
Against rocks worn smooth
So many lives ago
No one remembers
Songs and whopping
Echo down this holy water
Krisha! Whop. Om Shanti! Whop. Jai Rama! Whop
Vultures soar patiently above us
Without effort
Glide through blue fog mist
Mingling with smoke from burning ghats
Along the shore
The end and the beginning.
In a post-coup America, an Illinois farm boy is drawn into the resistance by his brother's death. Captured, he is given a choice: betray his friends, or the girl he loves will be lobotomized.
A homonymless man writes shows what it's like to look up the laid he skirts when you’re lying prone(d) to the sidewalk, beer / joint / needle dangling from your hand /lips / arm.
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