2013 09 28
Walking alone in teeming faceless crowd
I see one man among many men stop
and stare at nothing beyond veil of mist,
then hear him growl as he rips off his mask.
"Now I understand Dante when he wrote,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Look at their faces, polished masks of pride,
that urges me to ask the question, Why?"
Tom clutches lapel of my new trench coat,
then laughs at weird absurdity of death,
and offers me an empty glass of water
so I drink deep spirit of rainless truth.
We walk together over London Bridge,
exploring waste land where dry thunder talks,
and listen to wordless spells in hot wind
map endless way through labyrinth of tales.