Gets Away with It

This exquisite solitude
is my ambrosia, soma, cool
breeze coaxing a hammock
on a crest overlooking
a breaking ocean.

Acquired over years
of painful resistance,
even more gruesome
on a man—any man—this pleasure

dome is equipped with a retractable roof,
an observatory
for observing the hems

of gods. Some of them slightly torn.

Off Season

Hollow women seek distractions
in you. Numbed
into summer is no way 

to look at the moon
each night. That hill won’t hold
all these heavy

limbs and lids. I’ll be the one
to rebel—I don’t want

to be distracted.  Let me suck
sustenance from soma goblets
before another civil dawn.

Female Gandharva

To embarrass a lone monk
she fills herself with oak.
He staggers and 

despite everything (which strives to be

can’t deny the ecstasy of dwelling
in scents of bark, sap, and
blossom. Before he can steady 

his breath, she pours leftover contents
of the moon 

into his mouth—pure soma, no
rhubarb substitute will due. But it’s the heat
from her enabler’s hand
he can’t resist.