Two Commotions

the roots are hanging like shoots, the sun sets, the light is dim I arrange myself for writing, a burst of commotion in the corner of my mind threatening, I look in, no dogs, but human beings grunting like pigs the contention is the bone, less or more calcium: the cut off money, I cut my nose too as I poked among them, but they are born on this earth to cook the book of honesty, I am not fit any where in the scheme, I faint when I find them hand in hand in herd on the red light street, I am alone in the dark of the dingy room, on the table of poetry there is another din, a lady jester writing poetry on a rock star, a jackal from the hell throwing his hands and legs with only sound words to stab and create rumours, megalomaniac fools of the paradise believe some are scared: but finally truth is out, this is not a dance but a real jerking of the great nonsense. Today I have two commotions in my mind …