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