N  a  p  a  l  m      H  e  a  l  t  h      S  p  a         R  e  p  o  r  t     2  0  0  2



Train to The End of The World


Metro North platform like a wailing wall,

survivors stand heads bowed waiting

for the train to the end of the world.


Parking lot now half-filled, yellow ribbons tied to antennae on cars


by commuters who never came home.


Crematorium ash drifts uptown on a sour wind, the migraine that wouldn’t quit

the bond trader back at her desk by 7 AM the next morning

gags on a buttered roll.


Root canal of city tooth labyrinth

Vicodin sway trance across 7th Ave.

holding my jaw in a numb jut.


I hop the “N” 2 stops to 49th

Stare at sheet music in Colony’s window

avoid the office a few more minutes.


A hollow echo down the tube

as the falling column roars

here I am boarding the train to the end of the world.


The PATH is rough, flooded and treacherous

fly a flag, wave a knife, steal a plane, sift gray mud for body parts

busy desk a mountain of rubble, recession’s blinders on


Will I reach the promised land with my children?

Will I accomplish the deed, thought, word, voice of peace and security?

Will the tassel be torn from my shoe, jammed under the

            opposing seat of this foursome?


Will I be late for that early meeting?

Is my beeper dead? Is my Palm Pilot alive

            where I have crashed?

Lights flicker and rails squeal past Christopher St.





Apple, Adobe, Cisco, Immune Response, another guise

of the highly defined, watching

High Definition Television and the ticker simultaneously.

Japanese entertainment industry bondsmen

cluster around high screens on dark kiosks.

Columbian emerald mines, Chinese cucumbers, biotech chip implants,

Cell Genesys, Waste Management, HBO-MTV, Capital Cities oil glut,

fiber-optic telecom, Holographic-teleportation, T-cell receptor geometry.

Superconductive materials transcend the earth wave.

I’d call Ed Clark, buy Montana jade mines and sapphire bars.


I’ve already got my plans for the profits from the

first million carats: 

1000 to Naropa –– 1000 to Karma Triyana Dharmachakra ––

1000 to Crestone retreat –– coffee shop in Las Vegas ––

Maybe one within pacific wave reach,  carrier pigeon legion

all carrying Om Mani Padme Hum scrolls.


Golden sangha,

like a triple-gem Hollywood band of influence

like the bondsmen,

adhering in concentric rings emanating from the

    one holy guru.

All else is charnel ground, a feast for crows.


So rejected salesmen wander through

halls of chrome elevators and moving stairs,

such pure goddesses of porcelain in the polished glass,

Romeo-Prometheus species moving in dark fabrics

through endless aisles and rows of wanting to get to know you,

to know your business and to make it my mask.


Take stock of the precious commodity of balance

here among skyscrapers and iron doors ––

thousands after thousands of doors opening & closing

like game pieces accumulating into millions of tons of cities,

our shares of the market in rock.


Skinheads march in Oregon, Idaho,

separatists stock weapons of erasure,

dead-brain arrogance, criminal hatred

as an investment in heartbreak ––

Sad, self-made victims cower and tremble

as vampirous mini-despots devour their world

like a virus, pollute the righteous,  pure nature


they claim to defend; a total, non-discriminating nature,

exuding the antibody, antidote of seasons, time passing

in renewal as they march to the tune of anti-prayer,

hands held high to burning midnight.


Will the fool,  this goddess’s child,

remember his weapon and tear through

the aorta of this iron body, slice the hangman’s noose,

rethrow the only vase for his one white rose?


Will the market remember to crash when

all hands are stirring the poison soup, when

Earth’s management takes the poison pill to

avoid the takeover of all things truly valuable?