INDECENCY

     
    
             Halabi could give me no more ‘dope’ about Stew's progress                              
          Since my last session with him as a private client, when
          He had declared he meant to escape from ‘this fucking trap’,
          Whether of sex, drink, work or all three – or my counselling,
          Or the whole ‘game’ of pyschoolgy which he considered ‘full
          Of holes’ and ‘superior types who keep your arms folded’
          While drooling over the gossip of lesser mortals’ lives.

                                                 *

          Could i then now believe the delusional boy-man Stew
          Had volunteered to be a student of Enlightenment?
          Had Buddhism overnight become as fashionable
          As Yoga-poses and the pricey rags to strike them in?
          What was wrong with the boy (and with me for wondering what)?

                                                *

             But even in my vexed puzzlement, i heard my training 
          In Patent Symbology and Obviology sigh
          To my inner ear that Stew’s new path of spiritual
          Pursuits (even if only as research-material
          For a graphicnovel – about a Buddhist warrior!)
          Represented a wake-up call from my soul to my self
          To give up its recent trivial pursuits in favour
          Of a path more apt for a man rehearsing his last breath

          And i, what dead skin was i now peeling off like a snake 
          Squeezing through what strait-is-the-gate crack between which two stones?

               (from “fatima solagua arterra’s nudes” by Brian Chan)