Starting Over

Sometimes I wonder about starting over.
It was just, I mean only
peeling paint in the mirror
This bill came from a Swiss printer
& the sounds of trucks blocking that thought
However, friends, we are made
of cracked plaster. I saw where
the Buddhas stood once
and dust. It was "rewind"
"last chapter" as we bumbled
backward over the border. The
mule was a drunk coolie.
I told him these hills
reminded me of home
after a bomb or a billion years ago.
Under my robe I thought about
shaving those legs, or waking him up
his beard spread over the bed,
blue eyes like diamond-trapped rain.
Shoot. Back to the grinder again.
Oh say, have you seen our man?