Cuts Loose Awash In Blue, Being An Account Of The Spiritual Near Misses Of A Half-A*sed Devotee Of Black Mouse Poem by Warren Falcon

'Let be the finale of seem.' - Wallace Stevens, from 'The Emperor of Ice Cream

'I want to ride to the ridge where the West commences
and gaze at the moon till I lose my senses' - lines from the song 'Don't Fence Me In'


The photo's of the Shrine in my old apartment 20 years on East 10th.


I hear drunken Trungpa grunt about a 'spiritual antique shop'.

I ignore him as he crawls into a jug of Gallo Tawny Port and grows

his liver big as a Kali Yuga,


'May I call you, once-guru, Sir Roses (cirrhosis) ? '


The one Black Mouse what refused to leave the place made it's bed

behind Ganesha's head for years, nosed around in the dried flowers,

lavender on its little breath. 'If you are death wag my finger! ! ' I loudly

announce on the verge of an insight the night of the massive earthquake

in Iran many years back, the room at 2 am suddenly gone very cold,

all those newly dead souls piling in, but I could not say it, what it was

I was on the edge of as Sir Roses suddenly kicked the Kwan Yin statue

over and scoffed, told me with disgust to 'grow a set of dorjes, fer Chrissakes.'


'You are cut off, ' was all I managed to get out when Black Mouse

leapt out from behind Ganesha's head and blew lavender dust all over the dead.