last chance texaco

2003-02-26 : 8:59 p.m. for eckhard

stoic tread, easy, vague, instantly familiar,
warm steps towards an unknown fate,
the only truth will be what it will be,
it is what it is—what is this?
this momentary madness,
this harlequin grin from the unknowable concrete buddha,
urban allah,
with uncertain wisdom laid back on the sofa:

“i’m losing it.”
“did you ever have it?”

and looking like an extra from electric boogaloo
doesn’t diminish for a moment this juggernaut of tao,
without an explanation, without any reasons,
and occasionally fueled by powder and pills,
his own express-lane to higher mind soars over this reality traffic jam,
some surreal engine running on empty minds over matter-of-factly spinning out of control freak motherfuckers,
reborn again and again and again,
and yet again the mellow rain will fall.

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