met a stoner on the highway who was crying like an angel of grace, leavened like the abacus of misery’s loom, a fellow sun-washed tarnished goodness graced ill-believer who saw no distance in the stars and burned his soul with needles, coming down on a young child eclipsing serial apocalypses in calypso’s grace, a *****, or a *****, poisoned on a long winter’s algebra entering into a space of infinite solitude within the held notion of all beings, O Shadow, oh strange manifest of worldly sin, where is my friend, oh master of destinies, what shape is he in? does the dream of a lost dogs sorrow hypnotize like the eyes of a sparrow, shooting like an arrow from a deep dark hello, how does one to think? know?