Crow music
Dim sum next to glorious flowers talking
Who will buy me?
My bouquet rainbows
Red orange white purple green stem
Life carries me home
Climbing 114 steps
Arrange me like so many
Perfect Yangon worlds
Create a dream
Yes
Put me in water
On a soft day
Invisible crows in thick branches
Write laughter's dialogue
Bleed letters, ideograms
Chant sutras ring bells
Nothing but the blues in Malamyine, Myanmar
i am a fake person
selling a fake reality
to fake people
where the sound of speech
has no alphabet
creativity has no rules
said a Yangon crow
the end of the world
is down a long labyrinth
without a center
filled with staring voices
a blind man on a train
clicking clacking to Pan Yar Lan
uses a bamboo staff
carries a cup
staff signals pressure
walk slow
trembling through life
blind
Yangon primary students.
engage senses
a foreign man in myanmar
makes his living by reading
in a coffee shop
on a train
singing words flying free from a little story
crows release wing words gliding over a forest
above falling yellow leaves
a canopy of green shelters
debris decay leaf blankets soft shaded
meditating monks in burgundy
touching whorls
gentle way
soft eyes
sunlight saturday shatters shadows
as invisible traveler scribbles women
rearranging small orange carrots
wilting leaves
incense smoke curls into chinese temple
light as women wash flowers framing
red yellow orange
flickering buddha lights
enticing past present future potentials
in the long now
flocks of floating balloons
in a floating world
fly up the yangon street
pasta Buddhist monk
chanting into a microphone
calm meditation
accompanied by a child's xylophone
high heeled working girls
gyrate in pulsating strobes
flickering red, yellow, green, blue
singing loss, loneliness, alienation, poverty
deep shadows
languish melancholia
embrace boredom
I asked the boy beneath the pines
He said ” the Master’s gone alone
Herb-picking somewhere on the mount
cloud-hidden, whereabouts unknown”
- Chia Tao
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