The Bliss of Separation

Exquisite pain beleagers my body
Tears hot from the desert of desertion
fill blood-shot whites; echoes of lost remnants
last night's feast; Krisha'a Mercy
          prasadam of separation
cooled in the oven of my heart where mysteriously
              winged
Paramatma sits outstretching eternal arms
              all the
              while
whispering floral-scented wisdom without regard to
the wreckage of our final encounter: the wicked
chambers of self-deprivation; mitrovalve upheaval
false ego's idiotic meanderings of let's get even
with the bitch for calling me up and spoiling my
Sunday morning wilderness high... anything to
fuel the fire she speaks to me like a pirahna
this wounded, woman-child in a feeding frenzy
for the emotional
weaklings fasting from their last midnight repast:
broken dreamscape of what could never be more than
illusional masturbation.

Exquisite is the bliss of our separation
allowing me to jump off the edge of non
commitment and ennui into the Arms of the Divine
who waits ever patiently beneath the Banyan Tree.