I am learning to drink
from the broken cup of my life,
knowing it is already broken

Superego fires its volley
of mental arrows,
splintering cracks further

Civilization is a fine archer too,
shooting down queer nature

Imposition of linear roads,
metal columns,
towers of Babel
above the drunk river
– rolling kundalini ripples –
and tipsy plane trees
poking through concrete

The worm has every right to be in the apple;
an apple is a perfect home
for the rotten worm

Screech of the urban fox
muffled by winter smog
They screech like that when they’re having sex

Crow has been on the stump since November,
ended by a car and left in the gutter

The rigid structure of myself
is mind’s finest feat,
branching out in ramifications,
a hosepipe channelling an ocean

Room walls billow,
silver pools reflecting our faces

Moss grows on the ceiling
while funghi sprout in the cracks

They bloom in broken places

Awakened mind blooms in samsara
Vilasamuni Linsey-Bloom my dear friend

Love is the running towards

“When you play, I listen” Pete says
is Taryna Kali or a fiery dakini?

The room-brook pulls me in,
fixations loosening into conversation,
righteousness flipping into play

God the Father scowls,
while Persephone sings full-throated,
liberated (within) the underworld