Gong Show

In Kyoto, the Mikosan was four hundred years

of life history revealed in dance, the echo of

dynasty and culture, eternal beauty.

In Tepoztlan, Mexicans move with their history 

embedded in wrinkled faces, in costumes 

reflecting humor at servitude they endured,

in sauces for the plain food surviving from 

ancestors’ lives, in their horses they ride with

pride, beasts whose ancestry parallels their own.

My German stock mingles with Tibetan and Zen

quantum vibrations, songs, sayings, tales, stories

etched into axions, ringing on to eternity, part of

Frank Zappa’s single note that is the universe.