In a hollow in an echo, a pauper’s brain expands
as an anthem of solidity among the trackless sands.
Furry phantom jacks the harmony and intubates the beat
where my manatees and cyclopes are steaming in the heat.
Here our balladeers and griots and benshis set a groove
for a wiggle and a waver impulsing you to move.
In a neighborhood of tabletops beneath a windy vault,
the wine of life is sweet and pungent, bitter, tart and salt.
Over hillocks, under valleys, a nomad foots the earth,
fighting death with every breath, and laboring to birth.
You want to know just where you are and what you can become,
whilst a skeleton percussionist reanimates their drum.