Stupid of me to think I have agency
when I open my mouth
seeing as my tongue is always
otherwise instructed.
A sonnet of ****** passion
or a sestina of natural splendor
would really aid me most,
but the obnoxious curtness and terror
of our true vision is all my tongue
will abide. I sing, briefly,
about death and love,
because love is here,
and death is coming.

Now you are here,
it is you who will see the moon.
I'll walk along this road
at the height of the month
with the sun setting and
the full moon rising,
and you are the one
who does not need to care,
and I am the one
who will love you and
help you see the sun and the moon
until I crawl into my grave.

"Does suffering scare me? O Mother,
Let me suffer in this world. Do I require more?
Suffering runs ahead of me and runs after me.
I carry it on my head and set up a stand
in the bazaar to peddle it.
I'm a poison worm, I thrive on poison.
I carry it wherever I go.

Prasad says: Mother: lift off my load.
I need a little rest. It's amazing!
Others brag about their happiness.
I brag about my suffering.


by: Ramprasad Sen (c. 1718 - c. 1775)
Hindu Shakta Poet
from: Grace and Mercy in Her Wild Hard

I will write divinity's password,
but I might need a few wasted lifetimes
in which to do it.

How disturbing my mind is.
It heads to perversities in
the room to the right
while the conversations of heaven
go on in the room to the left.

Geese flying at night
dissect my doubt with
their confident squawks,
and disperse my torpor
with the rushed rustle
of their white underbellies.

There is only one adventure,
and it takes place inside your body.