Kathmandu

There never really was
.............a place called
.............Kathmandu—
jasmine-scented,
snow-peaked
.............paradise
pearched precariously
.............on the jagged teeth
.............of Mother Himalaya.
No mist-covered,
.............mystic wonderland
filled with endless rows
.............of Buddhists monks
.............clanging singing bowls
.........................in garland-filled temples
in praise of sexy, seductive Tara,
goddess of transcendent desire.
No, just sense-clogging pollution,
.............nasty, clamoring cabs
.............threatening to level
.............any careless tourist
.............foolish enough
.............to step out into
.............the mad manic streets,
the incessant hawkers
.............selling spiritual bliss
.............in the form of some god-awful
.............piece of mass-produced
.............Buddha-crap,
and miles of cesspool bi-ways
.............flowing brown-bile down
.............the garbage-strewn
.............mountainsides.

There never could have been
.............the Kathmandu
that existed with such perfect clarity
in the far reaches of my
overly fertile imagination,
the kind of place where
.............sublime enlightenment
.............could be had
at the turn of every corner
and the mere sight
of the rugged Annapurnas
enough to send one into
a perpetual state of
............dizzying orgasmic frenzy.

Kathmandu is really just
............a state of mind,
after all,
not a place that exists
............in space and time.
It’s Kat-man-du,
Kat-man-godalmightdy-du,
much more magnificent
in anticipation than in actuality.
In my mind,
it’s the ultimate dreamland
where I could sit on some lone
mountain perch
.............with the saintly sadhu
as the silent snow leopard
.............passes idly by….
perfect bliss totally realized
in that space
where earth and sky
mingle joyfully in
.............cloud-covered,
.............dew-drenched
........................ecstasy.

There never really was
a place like
.............Kathmandu,
But that’s ok:
In this cold-blooded world
warm-flowing fantasies
are always preferable to
.............stainless steel reality
and the silent sadhus of the mind
much more fascinating
than the ones selling themselves
on busy intersections at
............20 rupees a shot.