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A short poem
An Indian Village Road
Childhood buddy hangs up
Clean up your act, guys
Grounded before takeoff
Less Heat, More Action
Medicine
More Smoke
Music
No master tool
Not sourfaced, no requiem
Well, there we go
Psychiatry, Medicine, Philosophy, Poetry, Music
Sunday, February 19, 2006
More Smoke
Mood:  blue

In the hot sultry fiasco of damp
enthusiasms
and silver rays in gloomy
archives,
narcosis and the feeling
of melting ice on frozen palms.

Arborescent shadows of sorrow
in reminiscent silhouettes
the rain soaked evening
of pouring emotions
and grassy long walks on dripping
pavements
Seeking out each other.

Remember, my dear
the sweet faint lavender
in the cleft of your breasts
hidden from the present and
posterity
and the knowledge of transience.

Looking at the grey skies
I think of clear blue water
and simmering passions
although
I’ve heard
you’ve created a smoke screen
from tall chimneys.

Ajai

Published in BLOB, 6 March 1974

Posted by psychiatrist400080 at 6:01 AM EST
Updated: Sunday, February 19, 2006 6:19 AM EST
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