Why are we fighting?
This desert’s big enough for
us all to die in.

It takes desire and
sacrifice to become a
grand masturbator.

All knowing Buddha
laughs as you drink from the cup
he just now pissed in.

So tell me again:
was it your words or my ears
that were stuttering?

They smile and laugh,
start the burlesque; optimists
love a funeral.

An exposé on
door to door mattress salesmen
with nowhere to sleep.

I broke a grass stem
then with four sturdy knots I
demanded it mend.

When Earth’s had her fill
she will exile all her dead
back to their fathers.

The mausoleum’s
shadow, embedded in mist,
has nothing to say.

Now close my account;
I was born a beggar, it’s
time I lived like one.