In a parallel world
reality oscillates between
time and tribulation
the rivers of eroding joy
run dry in confusion
a doorway opens
her soul goes forth
in time, a story is told
a warrior’s head
upon the totem-pole
between two slices of toast
unadorned with any fanfare
I’m old, for this particular nuance
my reality is steady
and open to delusion
questions of body and soul
are too difficult to ponder
in throes of suburban tropes
and distant desires for
loneliness and alcohol
what becomes here
is undone in another life,
another domain, where
world is more than
the sum of its parts,
an epiphany of pain.
A heathen poet 