To walk slowly inside the mountain shadows and souls
With an empty cracked cup and a blunt knife in the hands,
Patiently cosplaying an impostor of cosmic proportions,
Bloodless but not entirely pure. Stone mirrors, as usual,
Hide themselves and everything else from a bulging eye,
Stone air hides the smells from a meddling nose,
The laughter of the lakes can’t reach a curious ear.
The fish is just about to decide how many dismemberments
The Shahrazad Gumshoe Agency could investigate in a century.



People pay hundreds for a single sheet of bogus paper.
A prayer written on it wouldn’t be necessarily answered
By the Lord of Sham, but
It could bore a wide hole in the nasty
Fabric of the universe which you could use for
Storing the trash that wouldn’t fit into your closet:
Warped bikes, burst Swiss balls, flat car tires,
A first edition of the King James Bible
And the original manuscript of Bartleby, the Scrivener,
Stacks of real paper, faux testicles of Uranus,
Several heads of the Buddha, your favorite specks of dust
In jade and obsidian boxes, whatever.

{from the comments on violin}