| This Edition's Poetry |
Delhi 1972
The Loo, a 120 degree wind off the Rajasthani desert
Baking me like a slow roast chicken inside the suit, inside the taxi, inside a lusty traffic tangle
I am transfixed by what I have just discovered
Just behind my nose, reaching back to the center of my brain, someone has turned on the freezer
Very odd
I am numb, frosted
A little higher, behind my forehead, crystals refract light - pure, unborn, uneverything
I would tell my teacher if he was here
Where did he go?
by John Evans
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