Wail-Moans for Love Scraps
(turn phones sideways to read properly)
The poets press their faces to the Love-Room's door, begging for scraps from that Love Affair. One of them catches a love-drunk whiff and cries out: Raaadhaaaaaaaaaaaa! Krishnaaaaaaaaaaaaa! (It's as if you can crawl inside of that sound and melt into electrified longing...) I will tell you, the philosophers aren't even inside of that house; they hand out leaflets on the street corner and debate the meaning of muffled sounds: Is it One? Or is it Two? Are the waves separate from the sea? But there's no riddle to unlock; no Sphinx guards the gate. It swings open, wildly on the winds of the lover's cry, and some of those leaflets actually say to go in! I even saw one that said: Become a drunk poet and wail-moan for Love scraps.
Ah, Sitaram, how drunkenly sober you are. How blinding this electricity to all but That One. You sing such overwhelming wail-moans. In That love……….
Ahhh… what a blast of love, sent through cyber space and landing right in my heart here in Northern California. You are in my heart dear friend. Much love to you <3