Enlightened Gibberish

Metta Bhavana X 

I live next door to a liar. You can hardly make out 
two out of every ten words he says but it all sounds 
exaggerated, fake or wrong. 

He's probably a little older than I am, in his midforties. 
Perfectly imperfectly American. Can he hear my pen 
moving on the paper? Smoke wanders through the air 
as if to ask what's going on in the movie. 

I was reading Malcolm X last night. When he was 
in prison in his midtwenties, and he thought about 
the deficits in his own vocabulary and the people 
around him, he disciplined himself to copy pages 
wholesale out of the dictionary. He thought about History 
and found new lights and channels inside himself. 
Nibbana of introverted energy. The focus 
where matrices of the finite and the galloping speed 
of their legacies lock one upon the other and the soul burps 
and smiles from its rapture. 

It's pretty easy to get good pot and all other scandals aside 
I have foodstamps to buy powder for iced tea and to cook 
for myself. Words and truth are just two of the things 
to make your soul grow... The marrow in your bones 
that produces blood, for instance. 

**** 

Do Your Best to Enjoy the Apocalypse 

Love and Lose and Try again. 
Avoid people selling platitudes. Don't 
let anyone tell you committing suicide is 
easy. It requires an odd, extraordinary 
stamina to push against your body's resistance 
to pain, listening to the antagonistic yearning 
for the cold atmosphere of death and holding 
your selection of demise in your hand. 

The brightest (visually) part of the day 
is hardly the length of 3 burps, the sun swings 
around the corner and in some minutes or hours 
it will vanish into the inky well like so many 
bits of packaging into wastebaskets, garbage sacks, 
landfills. 

Tell the waiter you always wanted to live in a foreign country. 
Consort with vultures and dolphins alike. 
If anybody "knew" anything about poetry 
it'd just be one more ribbon 
to tie around 
the barbed hook. 

****