[From virtual fleality, by red flea]

land of the dead

red flea’s been

to the land of the dead

and visited the poet Wayne Westlake

whom red flea found chewing ‘awa

by a mountain stream

"Are you lonely here in this vast valley

surrounded by green silence?" red flea inquired

Westlake opened his mouth as if to speak

and red flea was sucked into the dark orifice

disappearing into the poet’s belly

chastized for

his impatience

prying deeply too soon

red flea was swept

along by a yellow cloud

and peering into the boiling cauldron of lava

saw scores of dead poets

playing like infants

th the glowing, viscous, liquid earth

"How can I be lonely here, red flea?"

Westlake’s voice boomed in the cavernous pit,

"With all these dead poets fooling around

within my belly

churning in my gastro-juices, I’m going crazy."

red flea replied, "I’ve brought you some sake to wash

away your discomfort and pain."

"Ah," said Westlake. "Kindly, pour the sake now."

red flea complied

pouring the cool milky wine

and the silky fluid splattered

hissed in the glowing pit of fire

filling the air with its musty odor

releasing a shroud of fog

"You, red flea, will enjoy many days on earth,"

spoke Westlake inspired

by the mist

"I see

you often find yourself

at wit’s end

but you

must

but have

infinite patience

for the buds

whose minds are filled with empty words

and so little silence

finally, remember

that you’re always

near death."

With that Westlake belched

and red flea was expelled violently

from the poet’s tormented belly

. . .ah, this loneliness feels fine

it’s alright to struggle in the desert

the evening dew quenches the thirsty

even if all you do is imagine. . .

[Read Richard Hamasaki's "For He Who Wears the Sea Like a Malo" for Wayne Westlake]

[For another writer to writer tribute, read "A Happy Poet" for Juan Gelman by Augusto Al Q'adi Alcalde]

[This is a page from DougWords, http://home.hawaii.rr.com/dougwords]