(This is the most personal poem I have ever written and a tribute to that which I consider most productive in man/woman...hehe)

they asked me of the stars…
the marooned island…
the thirsty road down the beach…
and along came the well of...
preaching me and converting my...
could it have been the last surge...
or was it the defining spurt...
and here I lay composed...
composing...
and compost...

*******

the thirst was intoxicating
the monk asked.
in the garb lay submerged
the smirk but a brief one
and to sense - the deceptive ghost…
oh! I forgot the monk asked.
in between translation...
twice I bargained...
the wave stopped the lucid cycle
and I forgot what the monk asked...

*******

the versions all...
I breathed… I took in
the lost incarnate ... I smelt
trance and I receded…
‘morrow I hailed and then I breathed
there mocking at me or my windpipe
at the far of sight...
indiscriminate and indiscrete...
I heard the moan… a long shriek
oh! He lost
oh! We lost

********

and I walked
a lazy amble...
the edge – vision in sight...
and lost in stupor…lost the stupor
but there lay buried ...
in the attic
the trap… whistling rushes of the yore
come walk with me...
the hand held firm…
and I ambled...

***********

two penny
and two beds...
another day at the high altar...
one a snow pressed white ... on the dark side of the light
the other a gory blooded banked on the front...
I gaped...
and voices...or sounds...or noises…
stepping back I let it be...
a sigh held for long
a dye cast long…in space and in time…
but the healer sat and listened... next to me
and I spoke before...

********

speak to me, oh, you mortal!
the vagabond said...
of the roads and the monks...
of the edges and the beds...
of the versions and the walks...
of the pennies and the stars...
speak oh! the lost and the lazy soul... speak
and thus I spoke...

*********