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
a slothful orb ascends,
slowly across the southern sky
already missing its peak
it shirks responsibility,
no longer a light above by nine a.m.
in the yard, clocked shadows hold morning’s chill
while, with a furnace blast, blazing warmth is cast
lethally, from an expiring sun’s face
what a time of year
one of dread and fascination
a reverse magic of the spring takes place
dishearteningly unbelievable
everything once vital and green
withers away, as flames to ash
full bushes decay under still-blue skies
crosshatched with chem trails
autumn’s appearance should sting less
with each year of expectation
but the knife travels the same scar,
ripping the tissue open once more
spilling the crinkle of leaves, isolated chirps
icy rainfall spurts
there can be no love in autumn
what — love for a dying thing?
we expect spring’s rebirth in its vein
but it’s different
inconceivably so
as nothing can come back the same
taking its time, different life does grow
I no longer delight in season’s change
a witness to illness arising
and constant pain
raw attachment, unhooked anew,
broken hearts where love once grew
I cannot bear to face the task
of reliving seasons, to watch them pass
as all things slip like time in glass
my cageless prison, this life, outlasts
free me before I plunge once more
through autumn’s orange enchanted door
cold aversion ripening
grasping at inherent things
I know it’s wrong, so little worse
than self-cherishing
my ugly curse
may I be free before the fall
— just one more week
to see it all
correctly
In each life
we walk away
from one another
thinking this life will be different
we tried it again
and now
we walk away
from one another
a different name
a different place
a different time
if the karma remains
unpurified
again we’ll try
again we’ll try
I do not want vacations
I do not want jewels
I don’t mind bouquets of flowers
but someone must take them out
when they begin to rot and stink
and I am busy spending ink
I don’t want riches
I don’t want gold
I don’t mind pearls
but that’s because they’re a symbol of purity
– at least that’s what I’m told
I don’t want to hoard for when I’m old
I don’t want too much trouble
I’ll just take enough
to prepare me, make me stronger
for when things inevitably get tough
I don’t want to be a mark
I don’t want to be a thief
I don’t want to receive more
than my share of beef
I don’t want my own car
I don’t want my own house
I don’t want to own pets
or really anything else!
It may sound a little lazy
it may even sound lame
but I’ll take a peaceful life
unburdened by such wanton things
It’s all really perverse –
this cruel misunderstanding
of how reality exists
manically apart and magnetically banding
I do not want the wool
pulled over my eyes
I do not want to ignore
the suffering, the cries
I wish to be free from it all
and collect only the treasure of Dharma
for there is no practice too small
and all experiences are karma
I do not want vacations
I do not want jewels
I desire no relationship
I no longer suffer fools
with all my mind in refuge
every moment, every day
it’s incredible how quickly
the three poisons fade away
I can feel time slowly slipping through my fingers
frictionless to hold a second for a second moment
before falling through the ether into near nothingness
imprinted on continuum
a seed carried life to life
until conditions are right
to ripen the fruit on an unsuspecting self
— I am sorry
But how can it be helped?
I cannot squeeze this self into another
instead I chip away at delusions
from the inside out
destroying deluded doubt
and always at play
never a day spent away from refuge
and still I fight a deluge
of intense suffering
always threatening
to drown a silly me
how can it be
at war with three
extract My poisons, please!
Oh doctor of holy medicine,
I am a sick being
full of rotten feeling
still misunderstanding compassion
still giving with miserly ration
still confused at apparent separation
what can I do
I sit and contemplate emptiness
I feel like less and less
I can impress others
I merely offend
with no ability to comprehend
how meaningless it all is
without a pure intention
to worry about such brief condition
when I could be creating
a beautiful future feeling
and care for other instead
please, mend my broken head
Please, mend my broken heart
so that I may finally start
to love, to give happiness
and understand what comes does part
although appearing, no longer relating
to mistaken imputation
and while all expectations break
and friends do talk and fuck and fake
until the joy becomes real
and pain is permanently healed
may my pure virtue be revealed
through blessings be shared
and eventually may I care
only for other, selflessly
give me such pure appearance
so with happiness, I’ll dance
and, just perhaps,
give pure love chance after chance
believe in magic
believe in love
believe that life is a gift above
all else believe that happiness is real
not to be attained, but
merely discovered
pull back the cover, the visage of misery
for underneath, already there
is joy, and peace, and fearlessness
magical and pure
suffering’s cure
such allure
& haute couture
we make a dress of bliss
a lightweight garb
heavenly feeling, free of attachment
free of hatred
free of ignorance
created with equanimity and compassion
rainbow fabric of delight
not temporary, but everlasting
not truly existent,
but purified, transformed and increased!
what sorcery is this!
not wizardry of external means
but a realization of mind
my mind, your mind
pouring water into water
mixed inseparable
may I be free from delusions
may I fortify my magic
may I never wreak havoc
(more than I already have)
may I only give Dharma,
material help, fearlessness and love
may I be a treasure from above
ultimately, at last I find
a magician’s alchemy
is mind over matter
for all matter is mind
I am the speaker of the poem
divine entity
beauty, grace
flowing robes and lovely face
sent from heaven unto this place
pure imagination
I am water streaming,
a silent river, sans creepy songs
absent dark tunnels
I, a speaker, fantasy
I, fucking magical
I, ever unseparate from an I
a true personality
untrue
glistening, golden, unafraid
tattooed
cling and clung and am clinging to
lacking inherent-existence-goo
a samsaric stew
a real fuck-you
I, a speaker, falsely accused
lacking permanent subsistence
a temporary view
constantly made anew
I, changing perspective
a bit see-through
emptiness-clue
with good ideas I then undo
I, ever introspective
meditative
on the swift escape route out
I’m wishing you’ll come to
I, the speaker of this poem
invention imagining the spoken you
inception in the meta sense
write it in the present tense
I haven’t really any plans
except to collapse into this poem
when your eyes are diverted
to some other interest, next deserted
from whose side do I exist?
I, the speaker of this poem?
divine entity
beautiful, strong
stunning, intelligent
rarely wrong
who from your mind
came and soon
from your mind
gone
(alternative title: Self-Assessment)
I think my leg would make a nice lamp
soft, supple, curved, and round
a good squeeeeeeze
if you look me up from down
squish in the right place –
and in the wrong
in front, a bright and lumpy face
from behind, like every other PAWG
near-perfect ass – not too phat in size
nicely shaped when I fold in half
showing off some thick-ass thighs
and big-ass ribs
an hour glass shape
with small-ass tits
deceiving, yes
disappointing, almost entirely
but most aren’t interested
in being surprised or disappointed
and so I’m left here unanointed
unbaptized but virginal – ah! a wish!
almost believable, but deceitful kiss
when every swing returns a miss
except for the three, a perfect strike-out
who pitched to me? and filled me with doubt?
I think my arm would make a nice branch
muscular, freckled, smooth, and strong
nice to tooooooouch
to whom does it belong?
what soul could search and find
a truly existent body
independent of a truly existent mind?
no one!
could it be a limb to build a nest?
could it be a place of eternal rest?
could these arms wrap you up
and hold you firm?
or tickle-torture until you squirm?
and would you understand
such impermanent nature?
or is your reliance political,
predisposed to legislature?
squeeeeeeze instead
evaluate
and don’t forget
your mind creates
and ever empties your plate
but also fills you up
objectify this human creation
dismantle parts with imagination
for the whole is empty but of name
and our mind is non-separate
we’re almost the same
let last words be of virtue, love
a wish for other’s happiness
and though I fit you like a glove
we play this silly game of chess
you read these words,
you leave them here,
we’re left confused
filled up with fear
and then I pray and dance about
and use this body, to move, to shout
and once again I live so free
to end all fears and misery
all I’ve got’s one disbelief
– how could it be only me?
I am free
listening to
‘The Fear’ by Ben Howard
realization after realization
blessing after blessing pouring in
no longer worrying
that my time is a little unclear
no longer worrying
that I’m losing the ones I hold dear
no longer worrying
that I live my life in the confines of fear
I must not fear
listening to
‘Is That All There Is?’ by Peggy Lee
Fear is the mind-killer
if that’s all there is my friends
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
then let’s go dancing
I will face my fear.
consistent joyful effort is clearly worth it
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
the prayers, the meditation, the patience
When it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
listening to
‘Self Control’ by Laura Branigan
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
I, I live among the creatures of the night
Only I will remain.*
I’m living in the forest of my dream
but I have self-control
I am free
*Frank Herbert, Dune
My Tears*
I’m crying all the time now.
I cried all over the street when I left Jack’s near Montebello Park.
I cried listening to Heart.
I cried looking at the winter leaves strewn across the yard, I cried at the sadness
of the now-ignored trees.
Happiness exists I feel it.
I cried for anger, I cried for delusions.
The world is addicted to anger.
Joy appearing to be seen, but lost, a mirage.
Overflowing tears of Avalokiteshvara.
January 1, 2025
*a tribute to Allen Ginsberg’s “Tears,” 1956
The Halfwit Writer