In a blank monastic haze of grey I try to gaze inside myself
Aiming for the deity that dwells within my depths
Moksha dancing just beyond my grasp
Stumble through the tangle of a myriad of faults
My cerebellum swells into the crystal shell of Narcissus
A road to hell is paved with good intentions down my vertebrae
Leading to a cellar selling lecherous desire
Lost in tired battles with my desolated self-control
As Yeats deplored the second coming, sighing so do I
Marvelling at imperfections Brahman breeds inside of me
I leave myself, unconscious of the God that breathes inside of me
