Topsy Turvy

Suddenly everything turns dark. Sounds fade away. You drift into a tunnel. A dungeon of unending narrow walls. Life seems to have suspended.

Storm of questions. Mismatched answers. For a moment a streak of light appears, then nothingness. A voice shrieks in head and suddenly throat clenching vaccum.

Then the ground from under your foot slips. What was in head gets a shape. The mindful experience turns physical. Tospy turvey, you just cascade down. Then a sudden jerk. A halt. 

A faint sound from somewhere hits your ears. You open your eyes. What a relief. You wish that was just a dream.

But was it? 

No Nut

November ends 

Tomorrow.

And I haven't

Written a thing.

Such a losing

Streak.

Or is it my

Way of

No nut 

November?

Either way.

Not having an

Orgasm is

Frustrating. 

Place to Belong

The storm

In me has

Gone athirst.

Battered,

Shattered and

Helplessly lost.

It takes me

Places.

Hills to broken

Hearts,

Oceans to

Empty minds..

Lonely rooms

To nostalgic past.

Rugged roads to

A future

That’s lost.

From pens to

Papers, then

Moon to a

Mistress.

Hasn’t found

A home.

With the thirst

Still intact.

A refuge is

All it wants.

…

But is there a

Place?

To tame its

Rage,

Brush its hair.

A hot water

Bath and

Stomachfull

Of broth.

A lullaby

At night to

Sleep without

A fight.

An easy dawn.

A lazy day,

And for a

Shady evening,

Full of play.

Is that much

To ask?

A place to

Bask all day

Long..

A place to

Belong.

Monotony

With the roads 

And rhymes of

April and May..

Summer is

Gone.

...

Rooms and

Nights.

May and

Mights.

Through

June...

Monsoons

Bid goodbye.

...

With reds and 

Yellows gone..

Dust like

Thoughts brood..

On December now.

And I'm sure..

January will 

Stink the same.

..