Sunday, October 12, 2008


A closeup of the mustard flower, again on the farm, Narowal, Pakistan.


  1. speak to me memory the language of seagulls
    behind the hills behind the sweating sight
    beds of sand tatooed by sudden wind
    curved and open crevices particles of the skin of earth
    with snake linear language
    where the path into the cliff blue turns white foaming
    air seeped through the stones ethereal as moans of this dry land
    disconnected lay dormant following the wind of others
    elevated lyrical images
    of islands in high sea half to light half to gray _darkness
    strains of memories
    wave rolling wave to become equal in motion... in distance
    into my mind to capture the essence
    aqua choreography
    the barren chest of isles producing depth not seen
    by my sweeping cantos of self unity
    sounds magical lured by the cardiac tunes
    murmuring the language of skin and love songs

    speak to me speak to me memory the language of seagulls

    have a fruitfulllll week!