Song for a lover

How naked is your self… expression,

How aching is your world,

Does a mad girl neighbour still scream through the night,

Does it dew or rain or colour,

Was it mist or sun or pearls,

Was it some hidden treasure from a time before this world.

Was it your light or mine,

Was it light that lit us at all?

Was it him or her or everyone,

Was it anyone at all?

Did they hide, seek and quiver,

Did they seek and hide and curl,

Was there a crucifix or a lotus on a temple,

Before the birds were born?

Were there funerals poetic,

Was death ever hugged?

Were you lying, were you stealing,

Were you hurt beneath this world?

Did people still sell people for people’s cells to burn?

Were you calling him or calling yet another world?

If I crib and crib and quiver,

Would you brighten up my pearl?

Would you live on streets of heather,

Would you live like rivers furl?

Would you sing or would you whisper,

Would you sing or would you scream?

If your veins were made to shiver,

Would your blood still paint the earth?

Did you smell the rain and rain and earth,

Did you not remember me,

From a garden of assembly

Where morning plays its brass band.

Is it possible to write an arable when an arable is a runt?

Am I ranting, rowing, scratching a corner of the earth.

Come come now, be a nun now,

Come, come now be a fox.

Come come now, lets go hunting,

Come come, lets forget the sun.

When the night is blue and tender,

When the night is a purple bulb,

When the disco lights say para glide to a split split universe.

Would they synchronize with milk and honey and toast and oranges too?

Would it make a nice film screened in an embassy zoo?

Would it make you kaladhari, muladhari, kullu?

Would it make you more than worthy, worthy of good luck?

You could say you’re throwing copper,

You could say I’m killing words.

I could say you’re killing birds now.

I could say you’re smoking green green earth.

An earth of pasture freshness wrapped in ammonium,

Ammonium sulfide chloride basketball shoes.

Burgundy rapping curtains with cross legged cities of mum.

Hum a song you know you’re numb.

The world is dumb and I’m both.

The world’s a stage and we’re all whores,

So don’t we just rock’n’roll?

Rolling tumbling icy skies,

Rolling rolling stones.

Tumbling, verving, swerving chrome tones.

Tunes of tunes and tunes that roam.

You’re a home and you’re homeless,

Most of us are born alone.

Kick and cross and moss delivers,

What no one knew to be a stone.

The stone has the word engraved so bold.

The world has so many things,

But no trombones.

The world has qualities of universal ex contraction.

One atom comes to me and one says its god.

One atom comes to me one day and says we’re one.

What am I to say, but it sure is fun.

Julius brilliant, Julius burns,

Julius loves and Julius earns.

Julius makes us walk on Bombay sidewalks,

Where one little step and you’re an Arabian trader

You’re sitting in Colaba, its Christmas no drama.

Great lightning yet no fucking reindeer too.

You’ve got a great great girl.

She plays love, she plays love.

She loves to play and she plays love.

She plays love and she loves to hurt.

But when the heat cries Mary,

Other tetras run.

When the hunt cries Jesus,

Krishna hums.

Underneath the city, where people love guns.

People say ho bi, people say their mums,

Where people laugh and riot terrific hi fives.

We know its an island, its no Maldives,

Where loves comes free and yet it sobers,

Where love comes honey and yet it slithers.

I’ve heard the razor man say we know what works

They call it wooden Jesus and its full of quirks.

Underneath the hiding, underneath the sun,

A prophet comes hunting for a wildlife run.

We cant call him minister or senator or saint,

So well cal him a beggar and stone him to death.

Nothing is burning, even rainbows die.

Were all out of forces it’s the fourth of July.

We know what you were saying when you said hi fi

I was just sitting there and you were lying.

It wasn’t an astronaut, wasn’t a hut.

It wasn’t a hummer or a humming bird.

It wasn’t a river or Adolph Hitler’s curse.

It wasn’t really Mecca it wasn’t quite surf.

It was a new age narcotic nicotine spy,

He was playing hide and seek he was playing I spy.

And suddenly lord Vishnu came on his shesh naga.

And he whispered in purple and he rolled the world.

Were all spinning tops in a still still world.

Were all just eating death while the water burns,

Were inviting coconuts to teach us life,

Were writhing with laughter and shrinking with love

We don’t know iguanas,

We don’t know penguins too,

But the guys in swarga loka are getting tattooed.