Elated underneath the tide. The sands have buried him. Again & again with misdemeanors filling the corridors of past lives on the salty brink.
Watchful like a hungry lion waiting for his prey. Awaiting that especial instant of satisfied disfamishment!
How happy is the man, invisible to the mob. Intangible. & PERMANENT in the Halls of Lucid Being.
Happy as be.
Like a grasshopper in a cornfield! Or
a Gypsy dancing in an empty lot:
Heel Toe Toe, Toe Heel Toe! Handalé hijo mio!
I see Dante & those like him, lamenting their conceited literary paginations.
He and the others like a door knob, stuck in the mud of intellectual devices!
Virgil in a quagmire of poetical deceit, chained unto the very Catholic Inferno
of another man's selfish political fantasy.
Ficino
with Ezra in my abuela's backyard, meditating on what lie they can tell next!
To that very self with no escape, looking for pandering in a an iron cage.
Houei-Neng chanting in the fog. Him riding a Suzuki in L.A. smog.
His Bouddha Nature clinging to his smiley face in the Chili Pepper Wind.
"...to La Crescenta with Saint Francis, on Wilshire Boulevard, oh! I mean to Disneyland with Phillip Dick to Anaheim."
But wait, just a minute, the Bodhi tree's not at JPL.
Nor neither at Eiffel Tower with Grandma Bigelow!
The sands have buried it, beneath the sand!
...from Van Nuys to Long Beach, stinking of oily things
and leaky gas pipes. Brother Mark at Saint Francis High School still a faggot, whoops!
Till then
We're waiting for the end of Kalpa & the next Stupa
, and the long awaited tulku possession in the next innocent baby birth!
No-Mind on the horizon, no mirror to collect the dust.
