here's johnny

is it for love
that i wear these
so many disguises
and set out on
my expedition of faces
is it out of love
im driven to that
distant oasis
and pained to savagery
by the abandonment
of the emptiness
where im lost without light
not in trusting darkness
and my eyes
oh my eyes
they rob, suffer
so many graces
always at a few paces
in front of me races love
i behind in time
and always stumbling
like a blind man
my arms in front
with only feeling
for an answer


a love song from far

breathing has a parallel
when the moon is one
in the sky
it is one thing to be in love
quite another to be
lonely and high
one alien body
another body alien
friend of the soul
sleeps eyes open
so do the flowers
and the friend of ghost
first the saints gave up
their lives for love
then so many
sinners were lost
across the desert is mecca
across the desert
where the night has lowered
her bejewelled hair
is the mist of morning
for the thirsty skin
my thirst is quenched at daybreak


cranky gy[sy

this weather
this air
its birds their nests
couldn't keep me here a year
starting a leary
i will go to lear
dosed or desolate
kneeling by the bed in prayer
baby bayb take me away from here

this is the disneyland
castle and whatever
pirates, ghosts and alice
hang here
maybe are tiffin but
not my toast
the stepson came
and knew his father
his mother's breast
too he could tell
but slipping into
another region
he did not know her navel
though none knew better
how he felt the blade


hyderabad was won through police action. that was our first home office being charitable in its description of a fief snatched from a nabob. the rajah of hyd was all about leaving the union when he was as joined with it as joined can be. so hyd remained in india. although arriving here i have certainly hoped that i do not remain in hyd. why though don't ask. not me not to the city. we both don't know. so like children at their first meeting who were forced into that company by adults hyd and i do not know where to begin. we would become friends eventually but one never knows when its time to go home. so then the question is do i want to be friends. that is a question id rather the other person answered. in thomas hardy and the natives story id read how the egdon heath was actually a character. in a manner of speaking, the desperation with hyd is that it is characters. round, squat, squiggly letters that i do not read, steamboat tongue i do not understand. the fault is all mine that im more in love with the idea of being in love than in love itself.