The Last Sage
where are the old wanderers,
whatever happened to Steve>
a different holy book in hand every week,
the wise man of the thrift store.
“we just aren’t made for these times.”
you’ve either found the Way,
or the Way has found you,
though God was in no drug,
or back of a cereal box.
As years pass me wonder,
what couch is he crashing,
or wandering Tibet?
Or walking aisles of Lowes,
gathering supplies for his humble clan,
living quietly in suburban nirvana.
Perhaps those know know
don’t tell.
But no one tells me anything.
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