Dervish

This was inspired by a com­ment by Jef, else­where. Work­shop away, o my broth­ers.

I’m so dizzy
my head is spin­ning
like a whirlpool and
Rumi leaps past me
like some
great
cat
or
a
wild
horse;
he is drunk
again; or always
and the wind whips
his auguries
into
dust
dev­ils. He
keeps shout­ing
non­sense. Drunk I
tell you. He’s been
danc­ing for two days now
I don’t think he’ll
ever stop. I slept
last night and
woke with a
dream caught
in my throat like
a bit of sand. Rumi spun
by, white eyes white teeth
white hair like a dead bush
spin­ning, a cup of wine in
each hand shout­ing still
laugh­ing. SHUT UP
old man you make
me ill I can’t
keep up with
you You
must be drunk.
Don’t you know there
are lions in these hills?