molecules in motion

v.i. lenin said

reality consists

of molecules in motion.

i felt them all in thailand

- the diesel fumes and heat

beside a bus stalled in traffic,

the swarming scooters

threading through the jam.

listened to mynah birds
calling from the ruins
of ancient temples

where golden sashes

draped across the chests

of headless buddhas

rippled in the breeze,

warm and moist

as a tiger's breath.

heard the rain beating on
the corrugated roofs

of shanties crowded

up against the railroad tracks,

saw a fat monitor lizard

foraging on the slimy rocks

beside a black canal.

the refrigerated chill

in the 7,651 7-Elevens

(half of them in Bangkok)

swiftly changes sweat into

a clammy film.

the smell of meat chunks

threaded on a stick,

sizzling over charcoal grills

lined up on the sidewalks,

and the sweet scent

of plumeria when

the sun goes down.

black mold spreads its stain

millimeter by millimeter

on the scraps of sandstone

that survived the sack

of Ayutthaya by the Burmese

two hundred fifty years ago

now tourists hire elephant rides

along the paths around the ruins.

i saw a dozen kinds of butterflies

in the misty forest sixty miles

from the tourists in Chiang Mai
wearing their allegiance
to their favorite beers
on their shirts.

i saw a dead red dragonfly

lying on the station tiles

while we waited for

the overnight train to Bangkok

and sucked down icy tea

to the rattling cubes,

watched the sweaty trekkers

headed for the rasta bars in Pai.

in the morning Post

i watched an ant crawl across

the page three body counts

and blood streaked hospital floors,

twisted metal in a field of sunflowers

crouching on page four.

the Chao Phraya, river of kings

flows back and forth with the tides

carrying dinner cruise boats

the size of small destroyers,

chains of sand barges, long-tail boats,

floating coconuts, water weeds,

and empty plastic pepsi bottles.

under the Krung Thon bridge

a grimy ribbon and a wilted string

of jasmine are tied to the electrical conduit

that feeds a bare fluorescent tube.

someone has left a tiny glass

of fruit juice, complete with a straw

and a boiled fishball
speared with a toothpick
on a paper plate.

offerings to a reality

beyond the comprehension

of V.I. Lenin, that John,

would surely understand.