The Buddha Says
John McKernan

Why you so ugly to yourself?    So hurtful

Oh Oh   Another phylum fake mysticism

Wood chips & leaves disguised as God

Why do you spend your life reciting that
            telegram like your social security

Pain loud as a blue tattoo of scorpions

Open your palm    Braille is spoken here

The erasers will have something to say
            about that idea

The desire to be the circle inside a piece
            of blue chalk on a black board

These might be Fortune Cookies except
            for the absence of words & numbers

What the pulse says is never whispered
            in Sanskrit

Don’t worry   They have offered a reward

Consider the blue sky an assault against
            invincible ignorance

Go on    Coax the eyelids to open    Plead
            with them to stay shut

Some stone waits to be sand   Waits to be mirror
            Waits to be telescope glass

What is below the mud?   Dirt   Dust   Gravel
            Dead trees masquerading as coal

“I don’t understand the question you keep
            A borrowed body sometimes borrows ideas

“We know you did it     We want to know why”