Long Day's Journey

Finally I have patched 
the sky.  I have pushed through the sheets
of black confetti raining
down despite our prayers to stave it off.
The big wheel keeps on turning 
& I find myself blistered by the sleet
of the Beyond.  Roads here made of silver
instead of clay, haven't been home
in a year or more & yet I wonder 
who among you sees this 
city slivered into strata of light
like a giant parfait.  A procession
of suns swerve & dip 
into the meringuey rings of clouds.
Let the stinking cities of home
fall to dust; I am going away 
into the Shambhala of my art.
Keep my crook & my cloak
in case I may return some day
to settle the score.

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