I waft through the plumes
of a once-proud bird
which now bedeck a chorus girl
And I feel the strange caress
of all the race of man
embodied in this tawdry icon.

I drive alone
along the coast
on winter nights
and stop to search the fog
for a breath of moonlight.

I give to the calcutta beggars
arbitrarily
and veil my eyes from the inside
to meet their plaintive gazes.

I find a stick
and poke through the ashes in my soul
for skeletons.

And when you are sleeping calmly
on the crest of a dream
I dive behind your eyes
and ransack the arsenal of your mind
for truth.