Company

He asks if I'm a Sufi,
don't they all.
Says 'Man, you're trying to test me.'
I say, simply watching you fall,
like coach might, 
with an eye in solutions.

It hurts with extra colors,
but I'll still do it.
Join with me in a flattery face, she will
feed on it. Yeug! Do you
feel alright now; I ask.
A lot better. Well, of course.

They think me being magical.
Why, in some company, I add;
I wouldn't even bother to look for the bin,
chucking all my little rubbishes in.
Just fling mindlessly.
Also, my farts would be musical.

She believes it all, ducks into her lounge,
the fung-shoy, the clutter, the carpet.
He ponders mind-power, a spinning wheel,
feels he might be the one actually doing it.
Or it may be these eyes at back of my head.
Maybe that's all there is to it.


Cor, July 2000