Desert Oasis  

Heat!  Heat!  Heat!  The heat beats the burning

                                                                   flickering sands.

                                                        Desert sands stalk a nomad, a monadal nomad

                                             drilling toward an oasis waterfront.

                                                        A monad no-man snaking with and against

                                             the whirling sands to find as oasis drinking font.

   Plod the yellow ocean waves that drys the throat

                            lingering for water.  We men are

                                                    pilgrims and strangers

                                                                                      to the land, passing

                                            through from oasis to oasis.  Each sand a stone

                                                        crumbling beneath our feet as we near and

                                            pass oasis from oasis.  Wind-flows eat our eyes and

                              age our cheeks and our man labors

                                                    for the Life.

                                           Nomadal monads and monadal nomads we can become...

                                                                   and so our life.  Aggregates of

                                                      shameful men and shameless things.  We are

                                           nobody to everybody and nothing to something.  This

                                                         is how we drag on from oasis well to oasis

                                                             well.  Rest there to build up strength

                                           then brave the war of contestant sands and wind-throws.

prison of the mind

the prison in our mind   it's that that draws us round from cemetery to 

cemetery   from tomb to tomb where our stinking pasts are laid

we long to douse the smoke-clouds hovering above the smoldering of our 

deeds   the garbage pit that yawns as we watch   here we stood attempting

to burn the rubbish that taints us   the refuse of sins thought long discarded

in the dump we called "home"

we're like fools in dunce caps facing the wall of rejection   twiddling our

thumbs waiting for some trapdoor to spring   hurling our vision into bas-

relief on the wall of lost grace

like dour virgins posing for a date   we sit staring into cameras that hold our

image without a soul   seated and staring into the coated glass   hoping our

Mate will ring and lead us to Spring

but will we remain stuck on the hinges of old queries   trapped in the

questions that philosophy can't resolve  as we travel the road hungering for 

Light