Wonder what the Buddha does?


Wonder what the Buddha does – when things are kinda wobbly?

I wonder how the Buddha feels on a super low, low day?

I wonder how the Buddha copes when he stands at the brink of his Buddhahood, with thoughts of wafting gently down the karmic ladder?

I wonder too much, about too much wondering.

Oh my. Trying to remember. buddha
Trying to remember where a Buddha goes, when Buddha wants to cry?

If I revealed to you


If I revealed to you the passion of my thoughts, will you send me back to hell, if I say please, pretty,  please?

If I confide in you and only you, myself, will you know that I am this me, the only me I could be here, created only through you?

All the other versions I was, and could have become, said goodbye to me last night, knowing I would never go with them.

Perhaps they were angry that I betrayed my group of wanderers – from feeling a little tired, became disloyal, from feeling disloyal, became bad. Perhaps they were sad.

I watched myself packing up and leaving myself in the morning haze, and looked back to see myself, smaller and smaller on the dock, waving my tiny wave of desperation.

As I turned around to see your door still closed, I knew.

But the wind was high, and seagulls were calling to the wanderers, gone already, who really didn’t want to go.

And like all troubadours who sell their backsides for a song, the minstrels and the mendicants, from a thousand places and a million times ago, they can only hum a little tune to feed the wind, to help it move along:

The one about a piece of them I had to cut, and leave behind for you.


Now We’re Standing And


So we meet at the starting line of some serious Olympic final track and field event.

Noticing the wriggle in your tight sprinting pants, I wandered over in my swimsuit, forgetting the way to the swimming pool.

There, in the midst of all these beautiful athletes – weighing and fondling the spears and balls and discussions in their hands, limbering up, getting ready for whatever was about to – then the whistle blew.

What the-? Hey-?

Smack in the middle of some glorious competition which neither you nor I wanted to join or win. On your mark, get set, the starter’s pistol exploded with a bang!

Now we’re standing and looking high up at the javelins, like heat-seeking missiles, arc slowly through the air.


Knowing the Tango



He loved her and he didn’t know it.

She loved him and she didn’t know it.

So they both got married to other people and enjoyed it.

Occasionally, they would meet at parties.

They would sit and talk and drink and talk

dying to dance a slow jazz number with each other.

Sometimes she or he would ask: “Care to dance?”

Sometimes he or she would answer: “Do you know The Tango?”

And they would both laugh

and clink glasses

and drink and talk

and then go home

and secretly practise

every step of

the Tango.

Two Minds


Two minds were necking on the beach one night.

One mind said,

“Darling, Darling, hold me tight!”

The other mind said,

“Gotcha! This one’s a sure thing, all right.”

Of course, neither of the minds actually heard

what each other said.

They merely imagined they heard it.

Deeper into the moonlit night, the tide was rising.

As the weather turned colder,

their imaginations grew wilder and bolder

by each wash of the waves.

Suddenly, in a flash of thunder and lightning,

one mind leapt upon the other mind, on that beach,

and sucked on its cells like a vampire.

The left hemisphere of the predator mind locked on tightly

to the right hemisphere of the victim mind.

A wave crashed recklessly upon a rock.

Storm clouds argued heatedly. And then… surprise !

The left hemisphere of the victim mind sucked back tightly

on the right hemisphere of the predator mind.

The victim mind became the predator mind.

Cosmic tissue mingled and meshed like saliva

and other bodily juices on the beach that night.

In the morning, scraps and remnants of both minds

lay scattered among the seaside sand, exhausted.

A baby mind stood close by.

Strong, agile, rebellious.

Disdainfully, it kicks aside a stick of marijuana,

ready to fly. And away it went.

She Thought


“He stood there like a young Greek God,” she thought.

“He, standing there like a young Greek God, looked muscular, sexy and intelligent,” she thought.

“He, standing there like a young Greek God, looking sexy muscular and intelligent, is bulging like a horse beneath the towel,” she thought.

“He, young, Greek, God, sexy, muscular, intelligent, bulging like a horse is taking his time, is smiling, is torturing me,” she thought.

“He young, Greek, long, hard, strong, mounts me, fires his throbbing boa constrictor into me, God, sexy, muscular, intelligent, slavemaster, young, Greek, stable-job, steady-income, pumping like a mad Italian piston into me,” she thought.

“Omigod, Greek, young, muscular, sexy, intelligent, black slave, drives a yellow Ferrari, long, strong, proud, clean, He, banging banging, hot thick, rooooaaars like an engine, shiver shiver shiver, Greek, young, hard, shiver shiver shiver… Oh God Oh God, now, now, now!” she thought.

“That’s the problem with her:

She thinks too much,” he thought.

Towards a Distant Karma


Ages ago,

when we came out of 
the cosmic void,

we were lovers, do you remember ?

As lovers of land, we made things grow:

You kept the accounts,

I collected taxes.

The stars were so bright

those ancient nights,

it was beautiful.

How brave we were then – do you remember ? –

who refused to unlove each other when we died;

holding hands on the deathbed,

every breath was precious time

taken away from the kissing.

And what do you know?

We came back again as lovers.

Back again, as climbers of rock,

we played out a new karma on the ropes

a thousand meters

up the side of that sheer cliff. Remember?

We shouldn’t have done

what we did that day,

my eternal love.

The sky was such a perfect blue.

And hanging on that rope we should have meditated

and conserved our energy, and climbed;

Instead we fucked and slipped

and plunged and smashed

into a thousand pieces on the rocks below.

So, back again – never having learned the lesson –

you the teapot, me the tea;

you the dolphin, me the sea;

me the condom, you the pill;

time, like a bulldozer on a hill.

There she sits,

There she stands,

There she pays the bill, tips the waiter,

There she’s going – there she goes


She’s gone.

Stileto heels

clicking on the hard pavement

under the cold grim light.

But no.

We never listened.

Recycled souls,

filled to the brim with past pain;

scars, like maggots, in our brains

we meet in the halo of the blue street light –


bargaining hard, wanting to see the merchandise;


telling me to fuck off;


vaguely remembering each other from somewhere in the past:

Perhaps a client, perhaps a friend,

or, perhaps, even a lover.

Yes Yes Yes

Come Come Come

Listen listen listen:

Tomorrow morning, when you look out the window

while I am still asleep,

the garden will be filled with tonight’s dew.

Don’t worry about it.

It’s just the world,

shedding another tear,

towards a distant karma.

My Facebook liked your Facebook too.


My Facebook liked your Facebook, tanning on the beach.

Inside, I felt you drowning, but you were out of reach.

By the time I read reviews, and grabbed the life-saver app, and installed,

registered, signed-up, entered all my preferences, and got my password set,

no matter how I kept on liking you,

you were so, so dead.

One of those online disappointments, that made me feel so blue.

I feel a whole lot better now, though,

knowing that, once, you liked me too.

My Facebook met your Facebook

My Facebook met your Facebook quietly in the night.
First, they had coffee, and then, 
a bottle of wine.

It was after midnight, 
and both were feeling fine.
When it came to 3am, they had forgotten every warning.

They kissed and touched and grabbed and tweaked,
and got married in the morning.

The priest who read the wedding vows, 
was praying true and deep,
for Facebooks gone on honeymoon, 
while we were sound asleep.

Another brownout hits the fan.


Some day when you are no longer around,

and life is harder,

when days get hot, and nights a little colder,

I want to be in another place too.

Another place where it is not as dim,

and the lights do not lose so much power.
You may not wish to tell anyone where you went,

and I may not have the will left to ask either.
The road can be long and crooked,

when the ones you seek might not wish to be found.

It may be time to stop, just stop,

and no longer be around.