Little Poem For Thursday

This poem is in three sections, but parts two and three I cannot access yet due to technical difficulties but I’ll try again. Also, the spacing is… bigger than it should be. When I cut and paste from Word to WordPress it makes everything double-spaced/oddly spaced.


Mirabai in New York 


You disappoint me.

I was ready to love you.

For every slave has her hour of confusion,

often at midnight,

asking: where is Master?

Whose face is his?


My Lord,

today I went all the way

to the East Village

and ate such hot vindaloo chicken,

the young waiter sent me mango juice

in a copper cup.

He’s far from his home in Dhaka.
He told me to spend the night.


But all night long with him,

it was your poetry I was after,

some slender volume

using all the old words.

And it was your pale, slack face I was after,

your blue jeans

and hidden cock.

But it was your kiss (no)

your grace (no) your punishment (no)

that I longed for most of all.


Zero for three.


Mira’s Master is half man, half fish.

He swims in her tears.

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