The Guru

Joshua assures me
that he has some sort of
great power.

knows the winning
lottery tickets
before they're called,
knows about a portal
somewhere in the middle
of the Texan desert.

we walk the ten minutes
to his first floor apartment
as Josh explains to me
how the planes overhead
are crop-dusting us
with anti-depressants, anti-anxiety,
things that kill your sex drive
and your ambition.

he knocks on the low, brown door
there is a long delay.

the guru is 21, maybe 22
eyes half open
has a girl with dreadlocks
wrapped around his arm
like a bandanna.
another guy sits on the floor
against the couch,
nails grown out
says the same six or seven words
over and over.

the guru gets up
pours me a glass of water
from the sink.
offers me a beer.
I thank him, placing
the bottle on a flat rock
on a little table
next to a potted plant.

"don't cover the
geodes."

"oh."

I pick up the bottle again
and wipe the ring of water
off the rock with my sleeve.

He never said much
else,
we sit on the brown carpet
slowly slipping
in the only way
a mind could slip
at 3 in the afternoon.

I think of Buk, old in his yellow room
trying to live
trying to drink himself to madness
or laughter
again.