#2 Seeking Mayakovsky

I keep falling for beauty
I keep searching for my love
India found it and somewhere
I lost it.

Somewhere, somewhere
it must be-

the loneliest place
in the world is to live in a space
without love.

The longing I feel is a grieving
one cannot explain what love is
and what it is not

perhaps confusion a good word.

Up is down and down is up
when you have it

you are like a junkie
high as a kite.

Love is my heroin.
Love is my addiction.
Love is my pain.
Love is my joy.
Love is my reason.

When I saw Brando in full flight
I saw love.
When I listen to Dylan's clapped
out voice I hear love.
When I watched Debbie Harry
I lusted for love.
When I walked into Shantivanam
I felt love.
When I read the beatitudes
I knew love.

Love is a poem by Ben Smith.
Love is a hairy hand.
Love is a bottle of wild fox.
Love is a chorus of hallelujahs
and amens without I am nothing.

Without love I'm just another
dried up alcoholic that has lost
his humanity.

Without love I am no longer
human no longer capable of
seeing beauty or joy.

Without love I exist only
by breathing and thats no existence
at all.

I am not even animal
I      eye      I eye
scream

Don't you know
its the hungered flesh I want
at least to hear it.

To hear it, to be devoured by
its sound
I am rushing towards something
alone and not to have that word
on my lips is the loneliest feel

for without
I am dead.

To explore one's body alone
is not enough.

The ancient Greeks believed
the apricot a cure.

Someone once said
if you can't love God
then find someone to love.

When I saw you in the bookshop
I held a book of poems by Mayakovsky
in my hand with you smiling wild.