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hey if the stars were aligned

in ascending order of righteousness,

and if my birth chart wasn’t a nightmare,

do you think we could hold hands

and gaze up at them?

maybe kiss a little?

and hey

if i were squeezed out through the vagina again

and plonked into the hands of fortune,

do you think maybe we could plan things together?

maybe even dream of it?

Rumi said that there is a meadow

where a meeting is destined,

i wonder if that place is meant for us.

oh but wait,

excuse me sir,

in this meadow,

is the grass mowed evenly?

is there a clean place to sit?

will there be time for us at all?

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Dingy dusty corners

were once places

where the specks danced in the rays

fluttered to the ground

and sighed deep

a permanent sort of fall.

If I were to gather the specks

in my hands

they’d be stained

and I would start to dance

until the rays pierce

softly through my excitable flesh

Particles, particles,

spread across my palms

dancing, dancing

cutting through light and places

dingy, dusty figures

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Do you believe in your worth

when someone picks you up

from side walks and alleys

and dungeons of guilt?

Is there a way to steer clear

of the singing mermen

with their glistening chests

undoubtedly sprinkled with

laughter and gold?

What age have you reached

where you see and feel

only the froth of the beer

not the rush to your head

even if you’re still an early twenty?

What other words exist

to describe a fallen bird

with a clipped wing and a bleeding eye

and a passion for song?

Aliya*

What weighs the wisdom of memory

What weighs the spear

What weighs the thud of step

When the tusked warrior draws near

What weighs the water

when the trunk droops deep

What weighs the wind when

the ears hear the fleet

How feels the sand

against the skin so dry then wet

How tears the small eyes

when kin decay

and the end

is met

*Tamil/Sinhala for Elephant