This path is for you, alone
and lonely though it seems
that’s just mistaken awareness
that perceives inherent dreams
For though no self is separate
as ordinary we can’t conceive
the pure joy of our existence
what we gain, all beings achieve
It is said
they tasted the earth
and found it sweet
and that was the birth
of attachment to the food we eat
Attachment to the forms we see
to sounds we hear, scents we smell
to the tactile sensations felt
the gods betrayed us, every one
to attach a pleasurable feeling
to a non-existent tongue
Attachment, hatred
suffering, madness
all parts of the mind
love, compassion
equanimity, gladness
in only virtue will you find
everlasting happiness
The caterpillar is nice to visit
… in a way
He smokes his pipe
and blows his opinions
in your face
whether or not you’ve asked for it
But how much more you enjoy Alice
pretty and naive, a human even
quiet and observant, stupid even
(What would it be like?)
The girl and ‘pillar
both approach the end of a cycle transitioning, evolving
but one appears an ugly ascension
better left ignored
the other’s gracelessness is hidden
within, ignored
I am not Alice, a girl
secretive or demanding
wishing for non-blond understanding
I have never been lured
by a white rabbit or a rabbit hole
afternoon naps are not really my thing
and I’m awakening from my daydreams
I am the caterpillar
before it’s eaten by the bird
never to say a butterfly word or whisper
no kisses, no gratuity, no drinks
only brief passers pausing
for wisdom, absurd
or for entertainment to enlightenment
as I age to a disgraceful degree, resisting
before acknowledging
I’ll never fly
I’ll never be seen as
Alice
the caterpillar says goodbye
I love hearing the trees talk
sometimes the high branches speak
and the low branches listen
sometimes the east whispers to the west which gives silence in response
sometimes they all chatter at once
I lie in the sun, watching, listening
I dread the coming winter’s quiet
absent leafy voices,
instead violent creaks
disturb the silence, as do
small explosions,
breaking branches, piercing snow
crunching, snapping
deadened, hollowed,
muffled, no water flows
I wish that it would not come soon
but winter’s here in just one moon
There is a face that I once knew
we share a nose
and a freckle or two
she’s stuck in selfies on my phone
and ever present when I’m alone
She dances in the picture frames
at both my parents’,
the eyes the same
and even when I’ve grown stout
the similarity will be pointed out
The imputed I, it claims all things
that photo there is me, it sings
that car is mine and so are these kids
and this skin and face
and pale eyelids
Everything is mine, or related to me
while wise men retort: mistakenly!
mistaken appearance all my own
true as ash to fire and dust to stone
Everyone expects
A bang!
A surprise!
Shock and chaos
reflected in wide blue eyes
But falling in its own footprint
The detritus simply smokes
Blinding our eyes
little surprise
we can’t realize
The truth of the state
which we create
Too close we’ve come
too far we’ve been
we now seek something in between
In degenerate times
it is impossible to build purely
Follow the path out
and do not rejoice in death
make good use of this little time left
(alternative title: How to not do you)
I’ve a laundry list of things to do
not one of them involving you
so, if you please, I’ll be
getting on with my day
While I’d love to sit and stay
and chat until we’re old and gray
I know it just won’t be enough
so I’ll get on without it
Under red oak and blue sky I sit
to meditate and improve my wit
still I know it won’t be enough
so I get on with it
I guess I’ve gotten a bit more fit
and especially if by salt-lamp lit
I think I might be good enough
but I must errands run
Now a silly story my mind has spun
transforming chores from bore to fun
I purify my karma now
so I can move on too
And though there is so much to do
I just can’t stop thinking on you
so how am I supposed to act?
I get on with it
The Halfwit Writer