A
Drop.

Then it came
Pirouetting.
It came clattering
It came guttering
with furore and fight
with rhythm and rhyme
like many dancing feet.

On steel roofs
On downy pines
and baobabs
and old cracked earth
Pattering and shimmering
drawing dust from dirt
women and men from houses
enshrining the sky with their trembling hands.

Monet was painting up my vision
while the droves were driven out.
We stepped out to the derision
of a tenor waterspout.

The town outside is dancing
in the ruddy neon hues
and I’m ****** whilst Amsterdam-ing
by the slam-dunk cognac blues.

And a cap was shaking coppers
in an out cove by the way,
where instruments and owners
had begun to play.

The bar stools are all swaying
whilst the festival ensues,
and I’m ****** whilst Amsterdam-ing
by the slam-dunk cognac blues.

With the rhythm of the rimjhim
and the stamping our feet
we sing our drunken-whim hymn
whilst we stagger down the street.

And we had sunken five; still sinking
Im strung out, slammed, and stinking
Four sheets to the wind and freaking
about what I had to lose.
so that’s when I got to thinking
had an inkling to the linking
between my errant drinking
and the slam-dunk cognac blues…

My mind's but a friend of the clouds
O goes flying away
In directions of
Horizons so many!
O in the endless empty skies!
O in the music
Of the pouring Sravana!
Rimjhim rimjhim rimjhim!!
O my mind but goes flying away
Sitting on the wings of
Cranes so many!
O in the appearing and disappearing
So fast and short
Flashes of that light
In the sky!
O the beating sound
Of the cymbals
Does play the wind so rough!
In violent joy!
O kala-kala in the hymns
Of sound
Does flow the river!
As if calling
The dangerous end
To come!
O the wind blows over
The eastern seas!
O the overflowing flowing
Brimming river in waves!
O my mind sails a boat
In this brimming flow!
In the forests of
Tala tamala!
O in the swaying
Of that small timid branch!
O my mind's but a friend of the clouds!