your island refused me, tho I
     pray for it, your dancers
      now in darkness, your

musicians, inaccesible, yr. poets
      roam w. love oozing fr.
        their toenails but

they can't find their way to
     favorite cafe, their
        time is UP. yr.

island has been dessicated, was
       it my fault, did I drop those
        bombs, or create the

so called earthquake, 100, 000
     times more powerful & more
        lethal.,Thorough whose

   disgrace did I come to you,? Last
night cured in a cafe by distant
        saint, he says I'll siphon out
        the poison & he does,

        pain & perjury, poison
          is my medicine as

         purified, I hit the road again,
        throwing pennies to t yr.
           outstretched hand

           rest a moment, tI say,
          he sun has risen, in
               yr.
                    3rd eye,