TALE OF THE LONE MAN

The lone man sustained
by the water of life

walks up to a well and drinks
his own reflection.

Sipping the sky and all its stars
he stands satisfied.

The lone man shadowed
by a single sun

walks along sand to his last stand
shootout, each breath

a click in the chamber, each shot
one step closer to that

door that opens.

The lone man shadowless
shrugs off his six-gun,

shrugs off his coat, and finally
shrugs off his skin.

A dazzle in snowdrifts of
atoms falling, he turns into

light and walks right in.

There he stands in a place
indescribable, globes of

glare, and nothing in English.
Wordless, just otherworld

razzmatazz, he moves
by command to the

place he was always in.
Always in.

Death's head beetle,
pass on by!

This lone man is
one man

who does not die.