57895. poem , food, India, religion, spiritual

BUNNY CHOW

got shirt and
pants stained
with bunny
chow
curry

but it was, thank
God not indelible,
like a
marker of class

stains that
reach the skin
and
then spread
within

are a other
species of business
practically entirely

and here
I was in India looking
for the lost
years of Christ

vaguely conscious
of those gospels
found by
an Egyptian farmer

those gnostic
texts that paint
a different
picture entirely

here in India
(becoming
something of a glutton
both physical
and spiritual)

mopping up my
beans curry
with a chunk of bread