PAUL VURREY
Changes slide
on the escalator of time
As monsoon rides
on the helicopter of wind.
See, I was one
A gay solitary bird
Winging over pastures and hills,
A narcissus lost
In the little neat of his own.
Soon, an avalanche
fell on my face
Shaking my bone and balance
And I became two inadvertently,
On the stale altar of customs.
Now I am four,
The climactic number on the scale
Here under the cenotaph
Of my urge and hunger
It is difficult to guess
The future of my voyage and race.
But is this the way
A tree luxuriates
to its sad defloration,
The world expands
to its pitiless extinction
Like a luckless baloon
Bulging and bursting
In desert air?