Carlos Castaneda
I rise from the rear of the bus
my mission
begun
one where I find out what it was
after it’s done
Bench in a plaza
I sit next to a lizard
discoursing on Dylan’s discography:
he doesn’t keep singing if it isn’t true
I circle, ponder. A shadow
warming my back summons my eye to
the wizard standing behind us streaming
dark energy at me, steady lipless conversation
at the speed of light
but I’m distracted –
the wizard’s ignoring the lizard! I say
and you remember the lizard?
gesture as if the wizard hasn’t noticed the
lizard, hoping the lizard’s feeling aren’t hurt
the lizard and wizard don’t wink or wiggle a
hair.
I study the lizard’s face
it separates
like a plate lifts from a dinner table
the lizard’s face is a mask
I understand:
The wizards distracts with his right hand
while the left hand does his business
