i received darshan from a great saint
and all the time it was happening
tears came down my face
and the fragrance of her purity lifted the air
she pinned me with the blade of her stare
and i pressed my head into the red carpet at her pale feet
and all the time it was happening
my mind said: cigarette
and: this poem
the rest of me though
over on the other side of the abacus
the side to which, across the kalpas, i’ve been adding beads
that part,
it trembled to be impaled like that
it wept

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