Poetry by Rumi
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Thursday, September 09, 2010
Dove with green peas (why?)
his kids wear bibs 100% silk that stay white through the day
he’s growing wild orchids in the deepest darkest circles under the eye
he makes jelly out of dry words with broken fingers
his dragons sit fetch and roll before breakfast
he can pat his head and rub his belly while sawing buttons for orphans
he can spin plates on the tip of his mind
his books have pages no One can turn
he looks like a stolen Picasso behind a kitchen cabinet
he spits diamonds in fate’s face and walks off whistling
his universe locked itself in and threw the key through my eyes
*
every night I’m getting interviewed by the wind, with my will cuffed, with a moon in my face but I’m saying nothing...
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