Festooned Maypole

I dragged my steamer trunk
of misery into monastery three years ago
hidden in the false bottom
of a man
who appeared
intact.

I rode in on two wheels,
smothered in dust and leather,
parading outlaw and tattoos.
like a cool merit badge,

dancing wry demeanor,
prancing glib subterfuge ,
propositioning history
to another dance
around the festooned maypole.

I brought along women;
showed off my truth;
made fools of them people
inhabiting this skin,

and acted in coitus
with sincere yearning hope.

And though casting about
for salvation,
nirvana,
and a pat on the back,

in truth oozed
unfathomable pain
and incalculable sadness,
as I railed
on misfortune,
mourned infinite loss,
pondered
the demise of love

and crying
aching
weeping,
longed
to merely
crawl off
and die.