All night howling and screeching vehicles rushed past our LA downtown hotel window, until I fell into
a shallow grave, where an infallible voice said: Everything they taught you is wrong. Leaping out of
sleep, I thought: This is the deepest wisdom the gods have to teach.

On a path almost missed, while searching for another
way around, I come upon an assembly of cairns. Is
this Tibet?

The first object that strikes you as you go down
the hill into Tibet, is a mount in the middle of the plain.
It is where the people of Par-jong expose their dead.

Beyond, a flat gray plateau sprawls past the pale,
a horror vacui coterminous with the theology of
our ambitions. What do we seek so rapaciously,
like harpies beating galvanized wings over blood-
smeared post-uterine skins?

Then, under the "best sun," I met
                                              a remembered shade:

"It's Robert, isn't it?"
A broad smile lights his sallow face.
"Did you get to Lhasa?" I ask. "Did you find
the lama you were seeking?"
"I can't say," he replies. "I
really can't say."