A gravid moon bedevils Janus drowsy…

A gravid moon bedevils Janus drowsy,
    dreaming of the sun-spilt Western Lands,
where feral children by the sea side rushes,
    crawl and caper on the bonfired sands.

Milk-faced the monk prophetic murmurs,
    banging keys and chords to spells melodic,
spit from candied lips, barbed and poison tipped,
    missiles smite the impish heart, chaotic.

Dart-struck, too, and driverless, lost and broken down,
    Arjuna paces circles on the highway side.
Wheels within mandalas, he draws on cloudless sky,
    and thumbs a passing star to hitch a ride.

Outside of the Dakota, fully-circled time,
    breaks the heart and breaks the mind and breaks apart
        the rhyme.

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