Let be the finale of seem. -- Wallace Stevens

I want to ride to the ridge where the West commences 
and gaze at the moon till I lose my senses. -- lines from the song Don't Fence Me In 

This The Shrine, my old flat, twenty years on East 10th. I hear drunken Trungpa

grunt about a spiritual antique shop. I ignore him as he crawls into a jug of Gallo Tawny

Port, grows his liver big as a Kali Yuga - May I call you once-guru, Sir Roses (cirrhosis)?  

The one Black Mouse what refused to leave made it's bed behind Ganesha's

head for years, nosed around in the dried flowers, lavender on its little breath.

If you are Death, wag my finger!  I loudly announce on the verge of an insight the night

of the massive earthquake in Iran many years back, the room at 2 am suddenly gone

very cold, all those newly dead souls piling in, but I could not say it, what it was I was

on the edge of as Sir Roses suddenly kicked the Kwan Yin statue over and scoffed,

told me with disgust to grow a set of dorjes, fer Chrissakes. You are cut off,  was all I

managed to get out when Black Mouse leapt out from behind Ganesha's head and blew


lavender dust all over the dead.