Wheel - Recorded Poem

      Wheel

      Take me down
      to the sea of souls
      where lots are cast
      for the ways of men.
      Show the retorts
      through which they pass
      to make them wish
      to rise again.
      Reveal if you can
      sub specie what,
      do they yea-say to the close?
      Zarathustra bathing in the winter stream,
      which Nietzsche wrote as he froze.
      The beggars by the Ganges
      walking on all fours,
      the lepers at Swayambhunath,
      the dollar-fifty whores.