I just love this love it… love love inspired today. Thank you H.D.
The Thought Police
Major Jane, government spy, surveilled through ground glass
flights from my vest to capillaries, a sail loosed within my mask.
She begged a monk in exile to broadcast to and from my mind.
The Tibetan priest’s eighty hands smear mud on eyes, mouth, nose.
The blades that gouge their sexual glands pulsate their bladders, your envelope.
The mind: shade watches ozone dissolve a lake like veil.
Monks look down my skull until a revelation: cheeks and legs on water, thigh up.
Jane said, “Sex!”
The pulse falters and puffs out. I’m punctured. The monks exude more neon letters. Words fasten and crease me. Sentences incinerate skin.
The clouds expand down between shreds.
Jane says, “That’s a pose.”
How should I not kill yourself?
The Dalai Lama says: “It’s your ego.”
What calm does the lama worship?
The elbow that will never move, torn edges so sliced and ripped a shape must have flown to roost.
Embrace your arm and confront the stalks and the thread feathered rib bones.
Thousands of nights, noon and dawns flood out a valley not on earth.
Spurn the lilac breeze, looks at bosoms annihilate. Monks, see no pallor ooze from under a blanket pressed on a face. Their corpse press on my lung. My prodded flesh mourns in drool. Gas lit words glide on runners and are let ebb like pennies you lose.
As the Buddhist Congress ordained you said: ‘Nirvana is as a woman you love.’
Cindy is a girl. What do you think of her?”
To think the silence that dust suspends must fall on an breathless pond
whose motion dissolves to crystal
like smoke that moves behind a mist.
Above the waitress’s tray, snow