Perhaps I was a troubadour several lives ago
I need to ask someone in the know
perhaps the oracle at Delphi
if she were still alive and
healthy but then again
perhaps grown bored
she’s gone to visit
the homes of
the wealthy
on one
of those
bus tours
of Beverly Hills,
popping yellow pills
while I went through
the school of hard knocks
she was doing Botox while counting
sheep while the inflation creeped and if
I could love Helen of Troy all over again
you know I would especially in Paris in spring
foresooth there is no honor in this empty victory
on the dark side of the moon and I must make amends
with my inner child while he sings out of tune; I’ve waited
and I’ve waited and like a blind fold camel making circles round
the well while he pumps life giving water from the depths of mother
earth I am no closer to the truth than when I began this life of smoke
and mirrors and good friends and past lovers who really weren’t and my
chastity and dignity were sacrificed like a burnt offering to a god of innocence

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