A Cup of Butter Tea

dawn breaks like an ugly rash,
the sky, its dark head thrown back,
gargling the early light,
bubbles of gold swirling in its inflamed throat,
and he, a pergola of moonbeams collapsing around him,
disrobing the night, one star at a time,
karma floating like scum on his cup of butter tea,
moving away, further away, like an itinerant sun;

she watches from a window,
this inside-out morning not birthed from night,
but goodbye is the slow eleven steps
that silence ran to the gate,
a fallow sound, its trailing pause,
its comma, rendering it absurd,
a machiavellian contortion
from a warped sense of orbiting time,
a broken calligraphy brush
that feels the cramp of a phantom half-word,

where the twilight draws purple temples,
the holy gather around the fire,
ghee drizzled through a sieve of chants,
a god, a dozen, blinking smoke from their eyes,
the now is shred into a million unmoving parts,
each a split promise of the thereafter,
on a garden path, a footprint fills with inconsequence,
while the virgin unuttered brushes its mud stained gown.

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24 thoughts on “A Cup of Butter Tea

  1. disrobing the night, one star at a time,
    karma floating like scum on his cup of butter tea,
    moving away, further away, like an itinerant sun;

    Can picture the slow disappearing acts of the stars from the sky with the beginning of day

    Hank

    Like

  2. My goodness, that first line! That first line, dear universe! It rocked, physically. I stopped, blinked, so and felt that terrible rash and then continued reading with eyes wide and heart wild. What an image.

    Like

  3. That opening line, ‘dawn breaks like an ugly rash’, sets the tone and it doesn’t let up! ,I love the imagery and the ferocity of this poem, so full of fabulous lines:
    ‘…and he, a pergola of moonbeams collapsing around him,
    disrobing the night, one star at a time’,
    and
    ‘a broken calligraphy brush
    that feels the cramp of a phantom half-word’.

    Liked by 1 person

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