Homage to Lokeshvara
Feel for the poor fools
The clueless rich in their incest banks
Or lonely damaged and defective
Tending to welters of dents
In their heads
Pity the decaying horde
Needy at Christmas solstice
Limping home on lumpy sidewalks
Who slowly forget their lives are broken
Trying to give and forgetting to receive
Counting their blessings in cigarettes
And cheap gin
Finding oneself in a glass pipe
Paying for fire in a white pill
Hearing good luck in gold chains and leather
They take refuge in the back seat of a star
One eats food in a jar
Or sleeps in a bar
Life is sweet but hard on your teeth
Weighty decisions are wrapped in cheap denim
Time is found and saved
On a flat screen
Space is consumed
By a meter on a dime
This is your brain on hope and fear
This is the drug of stolen moments
We poets keep mum, talking to no-one
The kerchief of snivelling years I'll keep
Yours and mind, in a hardened clump
Inside an old tweed jacket.
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