The Stylite

Who was the fucker who went
into the desert and sat up on a pillar?
He had style -- sat there for years
fasting and praying all alone.

The faithful sought him out.
He was doing something
that no one else could do --
BE ALONE.

They wished that they could do it.
Be alone -- that is.
Why don't they?
Why can't they?

The village boys brought him
flatbread and goat's milk.
Pilgrims asked dumb questions.
It was his last refuge.

I'm not atop a pillar here
in this little rented room.
But I would still like village boys
to bring me essentials.

Not bread and milk --
but wine and Slim Jims would be nice.
They can even ask me questions as if
I hold the answer to the meaning of life.

(I don't.)

The pilgrims think it takes strength
to lead a life of solitude --
but no -- it's just a preference.
Bring the booze or leave us alone.