the buddha gazed through things
w/ancient x-ray vision
through dancing girls' tight bellies
through glittery gyrating hips
through the smoke screen of meat
through the steamy window of Fuck
in order to wink w/his right eye & then his left
at the Dying & the Dead
as if each of his wise heavy lids
were tattooed w/ the same word: Dream
This blog is updated irregularly and has nothing to do with the poet's output. The poet is actually disturbingly prolific. He writes about 5 poems per day. The pages are everywhere, even stacked in the bathtub.
Blog Archive
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2010
(103)
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September
(15)
- seizing the poison
- a quick note on genius
- the lack of everything
- un-jump-startable souls
- the fucked-up human stain
- if only we can die like this
- i feel like
- i can smell the stench from here
- born w/a cemetery in my chest
- gazing right through the dancing girls
- unwantingly speared
- the gory game
- darkness retained
- where the fuck is the relief
- one of yr animals dies
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September
(15)