Through the tent flap, across the air mattress, up over my shoulder blade,
The blindfold of sunlight slips into place. On your borrowed Walkman

is a bowl of stars,
not the sunset’s wussy Pink Lady
hours ago, before a solitary dinner—

   Through the peephole he could see a boy
Playing patience on the huge crimson sofa.
    There was the turkey, the second-best

Hollow as promises, their petals blasted,
Their bristled leaves now paned by parasites, 
Their huge, black catacombs all drooping

Whatever dreams of escape may cast their spell,
From a tiny room inside the Buddha’s topknot

The faintly digital click of the overhead fan
                    stroking what was left of the dark
           had finally given way to a rooster alarm

The faintly digital click of the overhead fan
         stroking what was left of the dark
     had finally given way to a rooster alarm

1. THE CHANTING IN TIBET HAS NOT CEASED IT IS AS IMMORTAL AS MEAT IS.

2. HORNS, CYMBALS, AND LIGHTNING BOLTS OVER GLACIERS.

3. BEARDED SEA OTTERS CRACKING MUSSELS ON STONES ON THEIR STOMACHS.

YEAH, OR MAYBE LIVE IN FANTASIES / WITHIN A DOLPHIN'S SKULL!

And there you are, painted into the picture :
Bricklayers and courtiers are making their beds
In apartments on the margins behind you.