
DAILY PHOTO: Temple & Palm Trees, Bangalore
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Hundreds of cold sparrows dive into the empty courtyard, cluster on plum branches and speak of sun after rain at dusk. They choose to gather en masse and kill me with noise. Suddenly startled, they disperse. Then, soundlessness.
NOTE: This translation from: Barnstone, Tony & Chou Ping. 2005. The Anchor Book of Chinese Poetry. New York: Random House. p.422.

rain trees
form a vaulted dome
over city bustle.




What podcasts are you listening to?
I don’t really, though I do catch YouTube rebroadcasts of Joe Rogan, Lex Fridman, and some standup comics.
So many cultures
make their dead
cross a river.
The Greeks' Styx.
The Hindus' Vaitarna.
The Norse Gjȍll.
The Gnostic's Hiṭpon.
The Japanese Sanzu-no-Kawa.
The Mesopotamians' Hubur.
Taoists cross Naihe Bridge --
over what (I'm not sure,
but) is probably a river.
No rest for the dead?
It seems kind of rude.
MONKEY New Writing from Japan: Volume 4: MUSIC by Ted Goossen
Bohemians: A Very Short Introduction by David Weir