My friend, you are never satisfied.
You upper lip is quivering with excitement I
Can smell your sweat, the flies are drawn to it.
That neighbor of yours is beginning to worry.
It is always something or the other with you,
Isn’t it?
In the womb you craved for sustenance even as your host fed you
Poison and oil.
Upon reaching the light of the world you choked on the cord and
Cried a wail of deep
Dissatisfaction.
What is it that you want?
My friend, it is rare that you thank
Any deity at all, let alone one.
The excommunication stamp on your visa...
Need I speak for yourself?
Perhaps you are in need of a monk
Or perhaps a stiff drink.
I hear being flexible is fashionable
These days.
Have you got the number of
A guru?
Pick up an instrument, if you must,
While I try to get to that point, if indeed I
Was making one.
My friend, you are never satisfied.
Tell me:
Shall we dance?
