For, The Tricksters



http://www.geocities.com/coqrico/apachedance.html

Expatria
(for Sunanda Kundra and Rajeev)

Late into the night
this Hindu and I
wonder about our past lives
and present, this book of Ruth.
Born into Central Africa
near Idi Amin and raised
by Malibu and wolves,
we resist the violations
of borders and treaties.
How did I end up here
on this veranda
with a tantric lawyer
basking under one Arabian moon?

Perhaps we dreamt
of Morocco and elephants
in the long hours of adolescence,
in the misplaced destinies given us.
I picked civil wars and extended families,
yes picked, and she chose a Brahmin.
We braided our hair in silence,
cornmaidens near the San Carlos river
running the miles before the sun,
pollen drenched and weeping, like Injuns do.

(The Arabian moon hangs
differently in this hemisphere,
it truly does and
there are hidden chakras.)

The Brahmin is an old soul
and chooses to proxy a sisterhood
to me on a Tuesday. I stick
a grain of rice on my head like this:

forehead in a plate of Egyptian pearl.

He is bound with rakis,
my soul's older brother. A pagan
string on my wrist is a friendship
bracelet I am not supposed to cut.
What coordinates determined
what is happening now
between this horizon and
our moon? How can I tell this story?
What good fortune
to discover the faithful
here, amongst the damned.

http://www.angelfire.com/ca/Indian/Mosquito.html

Paris And The Will Of God

We must seek to explain
Paris Hilton as the expressed
Will of God, as revealed
in the particular lazy-assed ways
of the gentry, pink sundresses
and gentle lap dogs.
Divinity and the rush of the Master
out da gate divined
that a girl must symbolize,
no, must generate a Conceptual Framework:
The Rules, so that anyone can play
the un-unique game of petty etiquette
and jobless, screwy inanity.
We must submit to this Will of God.

The camera adores her, so do we.
She's all cute and curious,
nothing contemptible about her.
Save for a moment of laviscious horror
like those of the Courts of Yore,
en flagrant dilicto,
pussycat-pussycat where have you been?
"I've been to London to visit the King/Queen,
or both, frightened a mouse from under their
chair. I'm rich you know.
Very, very rich.
My dog gets lost and I consult a telepathic
for $what an hour I don't know
tells me to put up signs all over Wilshire,
they get sold on Ebay, imagine my distress!
Should have sold them myself."

This is the Will of God. Repeat,
this is the Will of God. It is divine
and divinely created, it is the unveiling
of history itself, the remnants of whatever
it was that gave the damn muthafuckas the right
to Lord over us like that!

This is the Will of God,
from the Jay Leno set
inside an apartment far, far away
where a mosquito fails to collapse
in my hand because of it's fragility.
That too, is the Will of God.

http://www.angelfire.com/ca/Indian/SpiritLand.html

Ode to the Two Pointers

Hanging up there between our clothes line
and theirs, a hand could borrow sugar
from our open windows, that close,
a two-pointer draped from his haunches, eyes all froze.
We came home running to see what was shot,
heard it all the way down by Old Man Riley's garage,
a two pointer, not a doe. Everyone heard it.
It was big news, big game and there he was,
hanging over the squash and winter iris
looking out like that, just looking.
A pressure cooker steamed inside
the kitchen window, it tooted and hissed
while he hung there waiting to be butchered.
Takes a long time to cut up a deer like that,
and longer still, to bag one.
Times were pretty lean, the winters pretty cold.
God is as an animal, our fortress.

http://www.angelfire.com/ca/Indian/OriginAnimals.html