The Ways Of Shizizzle Poem by James P. Roberts

rising parabolic incense from
a hookah fills your nose,
secreting visions of tiny boxes
filled with plastic peanuts; they smell
like popcorn.You sit, contemplating
the void after all the dolls are sold
and you are cast adrift once more.

Sounds of Spanish impinge musically,
a baroque world where you are the "gringo".
Yet you are one with yourself, offering
all to your personal mantra.
Winter comes, snow falls
and the world is quiet again.
You walk out the door, leaving behind
the machine chaos knowing

that somewhere a young girl
much like your own daughter,
has been given a moment of joy.
This is the way of shizizzle.
This is the time of shizizzle.
This is the universe of shizizzle.
Om.Damya.Damyatta. Dayadavan.