Warrior Poets

demons in the weather dakini-shapeshifting hands on you monk at the door of Suu Kyi’s compound, hands in anjali light changed with her weather, charged with it unnatural or pagan….weather tones, demon tones caught the junta generals on their forked tongues tell me your quotients, hideous ones and bow before her now come out of long arrest what I see remembers me to a red silk protection cord to protect from ego frayed and weary entering all gates although dharma gates are numberless and one vows to enter every one of them out of Babylonian captivity out of theism matrix vow to enter talk to me in an endangered language to an archive needing liberation talk to me as aspiration keeps the record books, tomes, communiqués, all technologies summoned to say we weren’t all just killing each other this time around worry the midnight oil and proof thereof, talk to me, talk to me imagine life without archive? what to preserve, remember? mother narratives! imagine you could talk me over know the patterns this way but you need a sure foot at dusk on Tantrika path and I, I was remembered to myself to wake to be wakeful, torch in hand remembers me in the Burmese of this message the resistance of this message 17