One Man's Meditation Is Another's... Crazy.
If you find me standing on one foot,
dressed in African garb,
speaking in mumbles to the wind,
eyelids painted in fuschia and closed,
fallen star dust sparkling on my cheeks,
earrings of sunsets connecting under my chin,
sky beads in my pockets overflowing,
with a watermelon slice in one hand
and an unfinished game of chess in the other
(it's your move by the way)
smile, and back quietly away.
For, afterall, even the best of friends
maintain some secrets...
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