The only thing that breathes is the sound of engine
Relentless in its climb against the steep rugged pass
Palms cold with sweat, eyes too awake for their sockets
Somewhere I heard a cry in the wild, it was my own voice.
Sounds drum in and out
Half of everything made sense; the rest was a strange spasm.
To think just yesterday I was filled with purpose
Believing life held a distinct shape
One should have known meanings are projections
For journeys like mine never end.
I am a spinning wheel blown in all directions
I am the eternal misfit’s voice …
They have stopped moving now
Ahead lay the town barely visible without the streetlights
A lone thought zipped by
Where is everyone? Dear God where is everyone?!
The walls inch closer against my heart
Drapchi had cast its shadow on the moon.
I lay on the bed I have to sleep- I need to sleep
Men of the Tibetan nights I see them coming
In loose dark suits, silent as ghosts
I force my eyes open until the silhouettes fade
Yes you are here!
Here in a little apartment across a golf course
Choked by feather light pillows … this is absurd!
Crippled by the baggage of the past
I wait for the sunlight unable to sleep
Some say for your own sake never look back
Others insist people have a right to hear my story.