The Monk

One foot in front
of the other.

Muffled raps on the dusty road
his bald head gleams
with beads slipping
spilling
over the nape
of his neck.

One arm swaying
in rhythm with the other.

Hushed swish of the grainy orange cloth
his bare shoulders shimmer
with flesh melting
dripping
over the edge
of the road.

One foot in front of another.
Arms swaying in rhythm with each other.
One grey nerve throbbing at
the base of a mud crusted neck.

Muffled raps smash into gurgling clouds
clouds that scramble over his dusty frame;
dusty frame in which the earth steals;
sneaking into the crevices
of his essence.

One road in front of another.
One foot in front of another.
Slender grey nerves chattering
rattling against each other.

Muffled raps drown
in deafening sheets
of torrential floods:
floods that race toward dusty frames;
frames that crumble beneath the uproar;
uproar that cracks his dimpled cheeks;
cheeks that hiss with flaring heat;
heat that fizzles
in the fissures
of his dry soul.