Ragamala
I never wanted a home
nor a Lotus Sutra
I am not a lotus eater
a home
is a place
to hang
history
floating
in etymological
soundfacts
a privilege
that is created
by language
illusions
orange heavily
hung my welcome’d neck
my funeral
sewn into scented mala
pollinated bead mantras
un god’d
in which I gallow
***
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