Totem

Because a lonely wolf
On an Indian highway
Waiting for the sun to go grey
Is such a cliché.

The end of the knot
Is where my ideas got caught
And remained doomed
As the grey sun loomed.

The desert sand was on fire
The wind threw its dusty spine higher
Offering strokes of glitter
To the morose flame-spitter.

I think in rhymes
Patterns and dimes
I hear chimes
I smell unoriginal limes.

I dream pictures
I have seen before
And sprout blisters
When I get sore.

I see my reflection
And it tells the truth
It is my deflection
That within bears root

Of all creation
And thus I pray
That some constellation
Upon my crown lay.