Archive for January 2nd, 2012
Today, a big charity truck came on our street. He was religious and ignorant.
He was big and white with a baby painted on him with tattered white blanky,
and he ran over 19 of the people who were eagerly looking for artifacts
to buy for next to nothing. If not priced at next to nothing,
the estate runners would bicker and fight and squabble and shake their heads.
Some left without treasure,
terribly frustrated and angry.
Some left with pieces of junk.
The ones with junk
left with things in their hands
so they could feel
joy in raping old peoples’ things.
They tore the place apart and took things
that would icily erase another human.
Things that serve only as
acquisitions in mad rush
to avoid death and her love.
They were proud, but the truck hit them hard, lots of smooshing bodies
brightening the streets, and they won’t do the estate sales again.
The monkey was not aware,
but I was prepared.
Not wanting to move into the day,
I said let me be patient.
I don’t know why the monkey is slow.
If the disturbance is frustration
with terribly-unaware, marinated monkeys,
the solution is patience and tolerance.
The Brontosaurus was eager
to flatten me like thin roast beef,
but the solution is the same,
and get out of the way, if you can.
Run, run, run away,
and dip toes gently in the ink,
and float above,
sprinkling sand on the monkey,
sand from the eternity of my peace.
Yesterday, a man from Western Kansas
at our gathering, wanting to show how kingly he is.
I welcome him, sure, but I don’t want a king who ignores serfs.
We were serfs in a circle, longing to tell our stories,
but the king shook his head, pushed back his hairline,
stared at his shoes. The king was proud,
having something evil in front of him, something dying
by the king’s throttle, something making the king shine.
In nasty blunders, some told him he was miraculous
with such a brilliant uniqueness. It went around sick like this,
and the king continued to regret his presence at our gathering,
dismissing us and the boredom we brought to him.
Perhaps karma soaked him with hatred of our souls
because the hatred seemed to poison his own soul.