From the Market
Forests of people, caves of faces
adrift on the sea, the lonely ships of the mind
Bermudas of ideas
islands ascending
islands descending

(How far the distance between the corporeal and the sublime?)

For no reason
I flag suddenly walking
On the mind’s shoulder
desire’s bag
in which I carry groceries of dissatisfaction

(How far is nirvana from the kerosene queue?)

Meat, sugar, Surf, baby clothes
a packet of contraceptives
vegetables, a bar of the latest soap
odds and ends, etc, etc.
I head for the bookshop below the hospital
and slip Arnold’s new translation of the Gita into my bag

(What is the relationship between a bank pass book and blood pressure?)
(between a Prime Minister’s digestive system and the nation’s future?)
(between the nation’s constitution and wrinkles on one’s face?)

From the market
in the evening
via the morgue
I return.