POEM: Orange Hour

A golden streak of light,

glowing off the Ganga

like the opening scene

of a fury-destined manga.

The silent, gliding boats

give way to bells and horns

as sadhus leave the ghats

with the fading of the morn.

Gone the floating lamps and flowers,

so ends that magic orange hour.

POEM: Greens & Oranges

some shades of green
& some oranges
zap my brain into a kindergarten
neurochemical cocktail
the bright green LEDs of a post-neon sign
fire the context of a memory into my mind
there must be some long forgotten object–
a childhood artifact?
like the residue of a dream,
or is it gut-stomp synesthesia?