on the day of the double funeral I stand waiting for the rest of me to die, I am that I am but I harbor a bad disease. i should be anywhere and be doing anything other than what i am. because before Abraham was i am standing in the empty quarter reading a funeral manual on the day of the double sky burial. i’m poisoned off my pouch of yesterday’s mana. gums are bleeding this is yesterday’s daily bread. men cannot live off bread alone and the jackrabbit horde is coming home our own locust plague for a new Sahara. i stand with a hangman’s fracture lost on the old sermons in the sand. following my family’s footsteps sadly in the wrong direction, lost among the marking rocks. snow leopards of the black blizzard and my poison pouch of mana. drowning in the fires we cook a stray dog reaping all the whirlwinds I sound a 12 foot Tibetan horn on the day of a double funeral - perched in the dwelling of the solitude.