While I lay in my hotel room cramping, my friend Gary writes stream-of-UNconsciousness poetry from Varanasi. Bill Burroughs, eat your heart out.
Joy saw a dog playing with a human skull
roomboys deliver dirty platters sticky with old baked beans
narrow alleys dark after midnight full of cow mountains
drupad festival sublime despite crackly speakers
puppy half eaten by rats reclines in alley
books, darjeeling tea, snake charmer flute, bodhi leaves
still traveling light in dust
memsab memsab not this way
from jail cell student cafeteria at BHU
after the paintings of mystic eurolady
dreadlock white sadhu couples who
argue about 2 paise extra charge on the internet
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