“Far Nepal”

am I, in the glory of birth
or in the madness
of whiskey
mistaken, in white conclusions
drums that led me here
were shy
important
grisly

then I heard the flute –
golden fly
on the bedsit
angel
winks the wing
on sun

moon beyond the valley
sighs and leaves
the throne
troubled beauty
vasco
bitten

treads the junk of years
drinks the word
of war
rests on beds of death
fucks the mate
of god

dreams
of far Nepal – and now
I want to do nothing
but play the drum and sleep
when the rhythm states
my time