Fast Poem: #9 – Crowley Contemplates His Reflection in the Thigh of the Laughing Buddha

The little things make life beautiful.

Marigolds and hops in the garden.
Miniskirts at the station.
A comfortable seat with leg room.

We could work naked,
relax and know each other beautiful
but we do not.

I retreat to little things.
Mozart and coffee in a quiet restaurant.
Oatmeal with raspberries and yogurt.
A call from one who waits with marigolds and hops.

Vision of the wonderful line that arcs
below her ear
and tempts my lips
to kiss her neck …

On the street, dirty city street,
god-must-hate-cities city street,
people three and four abreast,
shoulder to shoulder strangers,
weaving to avoid contact,
desperate eyes filled with disappointment,
fear, betrayal.

I try to maintain a sense of joy.

If we loved our bodies
for what they are,
if we shared our bodies
for what we are
… communicated with caress …

but we do not.

Between leaves of
neurotic, potted bushes
scattered light dances breeze.

Stop!
Exhale!
Inhale!
Invoke the ancient Rite
of Perception Shift.

Intelligent eyes
of passers-by
meet
smile and walk on.

Thigh outlined beneath
well-draped fabric
of well-shaped dress
strides across Howard Street.

From the wall
of the hotel lobby
ignored paintings
sing Imagination’s
flight toward the Sun.

The little things make life.

© 2008 Chromepoet
Originally posted September 30, 2008

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