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through rutted winding streets of Kathmandu

dodging crowded humans cows dogs rickshaws

storefronts constellated pools of bluewhite

bright against darkening walls



the butterfly sparkle in my lasered eye

still seems to hold that last shot of red sun through haze over jumbled roofs

everything moves like slow fluid in this atmosphere thick as dreams

with sewage incense dust and fever and the smoke of brick kilns and cremations



Tom Kelly's bike rumbles down

we're going drinking on the Tibetan side of town



beggar with a withered leg sits sideways on a skateboard grinning

there's a joke going on somewhere but we'll never know

those laughing kids with hungry eyes must be in on it too

with their clinging memories of a culture crushed by Chinese greed



pretty young mother by the temple gate

covers her baby's eyes face against diesel fumes

that look of concern, you can see it still

not yet masked by the hard lines of a woman's struggle to survive



hard bargains going down

when you're living on the Tibetan side of town



big red enfield bullet lurches to a halt in the dust

last blast of engine leaves a ringing in the ears

that fades into the rustle of bare feet and slapping sandals

and the baritone moan of long bronze trumpets muffled by monastery walls



prayer flags crack like whips in the breeze

sending to the world - tonight the message blows east

dark door opens to yellow room and there are these steaming jugs of hot millet

beet

and I'm sucked into this scene like this liquor up this bamboo straw



sweet tungba sliding down

drinking on the Tibetan side of town



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