The black cricket knew
When late summer came around
And sang a love dirge

i am grateful for our silences                                
thankful- that we can just sit together
comfortable with not talking, no pressure-
no need to think
of intelligent things to say
we can just sit back
and watch the sunlight play
hide and seek with the waves

its nice
how you can listen to my mindvoice
and complete my self-talk
and interrupt my thoughts
and ingest them with yours
like a seed
that breeds and grows and merges
symbiotic with mine own

and if ever we talk
i love how we can stop
midsentence
and then when we meet
after years of separation
pick up exactly where we left off
without missing a beat
get right into it

-Vijayalakshmi Harish
  21.09.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

Political policies; panhandled; purchased
Options? Opinions? Opted out
Like lemming lightly leaping
Instead interested in intre$t
Taken totally to the top
Individuals internally interrupted
Casually castrated, cautiously captured
Some sad sadistic soul

When saliva is saturated we all need a wakeup call
No matter how foreign we feel
But at daybreak your love is like a milkshake
It claws out my eyes and reluctantly takes Eleanor home for dinner
She sits there
She snorts
She smiles
She tore my heart into so many pieces that I'm still looking for the ones that rolled under the refrigerator

Bingo and broadsides do little for my brain
Ages of nothingness and drifting decades starve me
Lies and mistakes and dreams refuse to move on
They bounce off of Rosie's chin, mangle with age, and bitterly salute us as they die

six o five, I drive off into the sunrise.
Yellowish- pink clouds open up to blue skies.
Scant raindrops fall on the windshield
And I remember the last time I cried
Pull out onto the highway, don't yield.
Now the sun is at my side.  I know I was
Thinking of you.  Stripes of grey hover.
Cloud tips threaten to whirlwind
But I hold tight to the steering wheel,
Hold on to all that I feel.
The wind never blows.
The car doesn't shake.
Pink and yellow still
Glow.  and I don't break.

O dear sweet rosy
     unattainable desire
...how sad, no way
     to change the mad
cultivated asphodel, the
     visible reality...

and skin's appalling
     petals--how inspired
to be so Iying in the living
     room drunk naked
and dreaming, in the absence
     of electricity...
over and over eating the low root
     of the asphodel,
gray fate...

     rolling in generation
on the flowery couch
     as on a bank in Arden--
my only rose tonite's the treat
     of my own ******.

                         Fall, 1953