David Burt - An Anatomy of Hallucination

Poem


	The Rickshaw Man
	Impulse is a fresh horse So ride him whilst you can The future is an empty glass Waiting to be filled, by man. You must try and walk the narrow trail And not ride the shandryan. Use wise the cloak of familiarity As does the rickshaw man.
	Each hour is new and uncertain Each day your own to fill Avoid the devouring limelight As does the small whippoorwill. To the hungry, egg, is chicken So to the poor give what you can Hide not your spoor on the narrow trail For who sees the rickshaw man?
	When the paper lantern lights the road Walk not in crooked ways Beseech the gods to walk with you And watch o’er the sheep that strays. The pack that hunts must share the kill The lonely tiger hunts to plan Running swiftly with both stealth and skill Just like the rickshaw man.
	The Rickshaw Man (Audio)