In my past life I was a passion flower
pink and rosy blue with yellow insides
melting in the heat of a jungle
in the Amazon
In my god days I was a monk
silent and ringing in that silence
the halls of stone
the mountain of grace
In my glory days I was a ball player
shooting baskets at the buzzer
popping champagne
In my zombie apocalypse years
I was living in a bunker
face covered with dry blood
trying to connect the wires for the bomb
In my jazz days I was a rhumba player
tapping the skins outside in the firelight
by the cafe it was so poetic
it would make Van Gogh swoon
his red hair glistening
under the lights
his eyes
on blue fire