transcendentalist of seventy seven

Now the knowledge has dawned on him even
He had been a transcendentalist of seventy seven...
the year of flood and artificial famine
was his year of birth and will always remain...
otherwise why this confusion? this unrest?
why this ritual of afternoon embrace?
why this tumult so unnerving?
why this search rising within?

He thought and closed his eyes
Standing still amidst blood and lies
and the city by him impalpably passed
Lousy generic codes filled fibre optics just...
A flash here...there a lightning struck
A halogen yellow went sudden dark...
A red Ducatti double exhaust dream
Like a supernova burnt his outer melanin
And he became so colorless white
A statue of God that fell just in sight
Standing amidst confusion so so quiet...

Madness in shape of blaring horns
black glassed kisses in cabs covered- unblown...
Vendors selling cheap spaghetti tops
Carts with apples freshened by rain drops...
Police guards hanging bellied pressing palms...
Quotes so godly straight from psalms...
All by him fleetingly passed
but him the transcendentalist they never touched...
He just chose to stand upright
eyes clasped closed...unopened tight...