H e a r t S o n s & H e a r t D a u g h t e r s of A l l e n G i n s b e r g

N a p a l m H e a l t h S p a : R e p o r t 2 0 1 4 : A r c h i v e s E d i t i o n

JANINE POMMY VEGA

Majik's Mala

(for Harris Breiman)

Majik's mala

click clacking in a quiet room

jerky moves of the bone beads slipping

down the string

Places you wouldn't think pain knew about

open up, we are re-instructed:

Mother Buddha's string of beads,

and a hopeful puppet in her sixties

still on the lookout for freedom

It may not come climbing mountains

as before, or plumbing the depths

and positions of sexual nature

It may not come running high speed

through the woods like a dog in the summer hemlocks

May not come trekking out to find death sitting alone

in infinitudes of winter

But in slowly giving up, in the hand unclenched

the personality cooked like soup

inside the skull

Come all you who are hungry

Come and eat.

Too long fixed in place, the body

becomes an ironing board,

a bicycle standing against the wall,

it creaks into use, the slow spokes,

screech of legs propped up in the living room,

Locked in a photo frame one has time

to observe mortality click clack

it is not unhappy.

No fixed opinion

when fluid motion is yanked away

it might just as well be heads

as tails click clack

these things do not matter.

Freeze frame of Majik Labdrom's mirror

the absurdity of us marching dignified

to a graveyard one step two step Oops!

off the curbstone, down like a man in profile

The Punch and Judy Show

to a crowd of San Francisco children

Wap! He's down! Wap! He's up again!

click clack click clack clack

An umbrella opens, the taffeta hangs tattered

the spokes like a ribcage sing

in the wind

Fluid moves so rare we notice now

when they come up, like animated movies

Goofy drops his gumball down the sewer

Minnie holds onto her hat as she plunges skyward

off the cliff like a kite.

No references, no grave demeanor

considered opinions melt in the soup bowl

of the skull, click clack

Hey! Comes a moment, Hey!

No limping, no hunched shoulders, no stiff elbows

a body is moving easily over the landscape

Hey, what happened?

Majik Labdrom in meditation

her mala serenely around her neck

each bead in motion, in static grace

each bead in fluid motion.

Majik Labdrom, pronounced ladrón,

like a Puerto Rican second story man,

The nice thing about God as a thief

is she takes it from you

willing or not, knowing or not

she takes it, you wake up one morning

and it's all decided: mobility (or good looks

a perfect ass, a capable memory)

has disappeared.

Coming out of sleep, the chrysalis

kicks off its cocoon, the (choose one)

praying mantis katydid grasshopper's

arms and legs are littered across the plain

and works of art, the diamond rings

are swimming down in the muck with the snails.

Willow, NY, January 13, 2005

Majik Labdron: Female "Mother" Buddha. Inventor of the chod ceremony,

she is often depicted dancing, usually in a graveyard.

Mala: String of prayer beads, worn around neck, or on wrist, or in hand.

Each bead can be used for a repetition of the mantra.

[Originally published in NHS 2008, http://www.poetspath.com/napalm/nhs08/Janine_Pommy_Vega.htm.]