Shangri-La


Heavenbound
above the clouds

out of breath
I pray
for our gradual
descent

and serpentine
countless stupas
jade scalloped,
standing sentinel
over a lost horizon

of dead
souls

looking to purge
myself.

Crimson
alms flap
loudly, seeking repentance

from carrion visions
of mortal bones
flown skyward

as the company of elders chase
their black and white
Ronald Coleman ghost.

Oxygen-deprived
from headachy
forty meter dash
I am purified

as a shaved-headed priest
ambles by.

Charcoal teeth
capped in alchemy gold
an open window sill

twirls a dizzy orbit
of faith