Infinite Absurd…

(The fabric runs and runs through my thoughts and it's orange threads, so cleanly start to weave, a dress getting readied ...so....)

a mirror breaks into

pieces of wood chopped

her head brutally shakes…

she gets readied, they get steadied,

her tears of joy just get added to

the heart in her

bosom so firm and padded…

the grass of her garden is

black plate and black cup of

tea and coffee are two sisters that

weep and creep, swim and scoff…

her eyes gleam and

scream is heard and a thunderbird

flies the sky the orphan sky, whose father

left and right is the voice unheard…

I write the right as I left the left,

like the past poet’s grandiose theft,

her hair disheveled her cloth unkempt

its really you or some monk just dreamt?