a poem for Sobek

If not for poverty,
I would give you a robot hand
to serve your electric-head
(long green and handsome,
apathetic yet aware...)

Old Egypt thought you
a healer,
and I've disease in need
of healing;
darkness in need
of catharsis,
madness seeking unity

Oh, forgive me,
but to escape
the temptations of Kali,
the cycles of Shiva,
the myriad confusions
of my unmoored condition

Pour me some green potion
or teach me some sacred view
to ease this post-bohemian disease,
to light this mad modern night