Everyday I do austerities to the spirits.
I starve.
I don't drink water.
I bear pain I cause myself.
I don't feed my addictions
Self destructive spirituality.

I'm stuck in a mystical head space.
One foot here.
Another out there.
Where the Gods dance.
And I, an outsider there.
As I am here.
Hang out in burial grounds.
Starving like the mangy animal I am.

Embrace the change of death.
The shedding of skin of spring.
I am the wisdom of the trickster.
Always leave them guessing.
Never be the same.

And, my life is desperation.
My life is constant worry.
I'm eking out a meagre existence.
Cause when the hunger dies.
I am weak.

But,
With no church to bless me.
I'm just a hobo.

One thousand years ago.
They would have made me a shaman.
Now, I'm just.
A failure.

The poverty monk.
Of limited means.

And, no ambition.