Trosang

Haven’t written about that in a while.

I’ll be an old hippie in Pisces moon,

carefree as in a Muppet’s movie,

not baying at the moon, 

howling in the rain, no,

enjoying this brief moment unexpectedly,

is that ok? Thought so.

Trosang means “hiatus from samsara”, or,

holiday to be crass.

“Today, I live!”  might be another way to say.

I take pleasure in just being now, and writing,

sucking on a lozenge,

Next, I take off all my clothes,

rinse my underwear and hang it on a chair,

take off three pairs of socks, 

(because my feet have shrunk),

light one of three remaining cigarettes,

(it always has to be three),

enjoy said cigarette while waiting to take off

the last remnant of clothes,

pull said vestment over my head and sit stripped

on the bed, plotting my next move.

I have to address the trash: “Hello, trash!”

before I lurch forward to tidy up.

I hang my shirt, time to wash my ass…

(Oh! You didn’t need to hear that, sorry!)

“I’ll be back”, said the terminator of the sentence.

I was getting ahead of myself by writing what I did

before I even did it. Suspiciously premonitious,

permiscuous and delicious and pernicious.

Considering carefully, crunching lozenge, puffing

on one of the last two fags, describing how I am here

and how it looks and feels, pretty cool, huh?

I like to think that. Some thinks you like to think

and some you don’t…being there had never been

like this before…and so it goes.

I’m going to have a picnic on my bed!

Dos quesadillas con papas con pescaro

frita con salsa verde. Unfuckingbelievable!

…music outside of dogs barking and  

someone singing a ballad…always some 

kind of mechanical whir hum or drone 

in the background like the Indian tanpura.

“You’ll die in bed.” the Hindu mystic said,

I wonder if it will be today?

At least, I’ll be well fed.

(I have yet to wash my ass.)