Someone is climbing the steep hills
where baseballs get lost, the stairs
to the rooming-house where Daddy
is invented . . . Someone is busy
constructing the final Koan.

Someone pulls at a curly hair until
it hurts, a bead of liquid pearl
on the toilet seat, wondering . . .
Someone watches like a criminal
the unreasonable sex -- a car wreck
painted with ice cream.

Someone is drawing heroin
from a coke cap, shaking in the back
of the bus . . . The belt goes slack
with the mind. The mind levels off
like an alto sax.

Someone staggers through a graveyard,
a stone slicing the moon into shrouds.
Someone growls the lost dogma,
shouting relatives pulling
at their leashes.

Someone is thrown to wings
broken by light, singing a song,
learning to be useless.