Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Pirooz M. Kalayeh

Benjamin Franklin

He was often announced as Roshi,
although he rarely took the title.

His kite flying days
dried under the blood red skies of Shikow.

His heart for the chomp thump squeeze
and nothing more.

He ambled over redwoods
in search of fruit bearing plants
and the tail of his Beloved.

The silent shake of his head enough for the rest
to echo their mantra in twilight or dry, dry heat.



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