Spring

Soft seeds float
as if a truck of cotton exploded
the air is thick with plant lust
springing and coming onto
cars, roads, trees
hair, neck, mouth

TSArist America

In my mind I have no beard
In my mind I am white
Which is why I smile at young children
And TSA officers. 

Paterson, NJ

Inspired by the city, the movie, the poem and the falls. 
...

The town is stuck in decade-old Hollywood.
Only the falls fall flooding like alliteration, an
onomatopoeic onslaught of thundering movement
unmindful of ABA rhyme schemes and the pattering
of Driver-poets, resisting being wrapped like a shawarma
and served 

to-go.

Paterson.
Adam.
William.
The old white gods are swept away
to make room for the new old brown ones.

his dark materials

he raged against the fates, in anger and in pain
all his life he'd been alone, and alone once again.

!

If I go through this emotional roller coaster again
I swear I shall throw up.
So we send each other exclamation-marked
bookmarks
"Thought you might like this"
Like how you used to like the way my eyes
Were pools of churning tar 
when we struggled with ideas
Like friction.

Seventy Three Dollars

Last night I spent
Seventy three dollars on a
Mediocre meal with people
Who barely know me
And I shall carry this lack of
seventy three dollars
with me to my grave
A permanent needle in my side
Seventy three dollars shall hang over my head like
A sword, around my wallet like an albatross,
Until I take it out on my son.

Peter Pan

The clock hangs heavy and broken on
my living room wall, leaking time
as the minor-key afternoon lengthens into
early evening, casting vertical bars onto the floor
while outside optimism rages like a
Californian wildfire.

I sit on my yoga mat and practice
Lululemon mindfullness but
am I even a person or
just a prism refracting words and thoughts into
a spectrum of moods (one
for every day of the week).
Weekdays pass by in an eye-blink but
the weekends are interminable.

The clock hangs heavy and broken and
I feel like I have stopped growing.
मैं अपनी ही परछाई हूँ,
(I am my own shadow,)
searching for a girl to stitch me to a boy
but
in this incompleteness, in
the absence of light, in
the long dark never ending Saturday tea-time of the soul
is when I feel most like myself.