I find no rest in my external world
no surf among its rip-tides
or graces in supposed holy places
I have eaten the bread
drank the wine
walked along the line
with a god who sat outside me
as I faltered time on time
but with such ragged ages
go the loftiest of measures
as unrest at my cracking toys
rebukes me out of slumber
is there local trove to plunder?
is there a way out in?
some heaven I have sensed before
the beat of my heart
at music’s majesty
the flow of my blood
in the still of night
but I tried too hard to dance
and rhythm ghosted on
someday we may embrace
in this loneliest of worlds
against the earthly current –
another road to nowhere
or the holiest of shrines?