without a view
in dusty, dirty Katmandu
Above the rooftop's
curried breeze
Prayer flags hang in
faded symmetries.
Despite the pigeon shit
turned to grime
And certain words
trapped in rhyme,
Spirits find a way to rise
above the Buddhas,
above the skies.
From a hotel window
Without a view
In dusty, dirty
Katmandu
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