I’ll start this off without any words,
Like a Zen Master who’s already heard
The call of the deep, smoking marijuana,
Who’s reached his own sort of Nirvana.
You lived in your dark parasitic womb.
Bruises on the fruit, tender age in bloom.
Test meat, you know you’re right,
But I can’t see you every night….
Angel hair and baby’s breath,
More alive after your death.
A koan for us to meditate on;
Paradox found in every song.
The way I do, I would lose my soul.
Finished now; go wash your bowl.
You will crawl away for good,
Were you so very misunderstood?
You will never speak again,
No longer hiding in your skin.
Maybe nature is a dirty whore:
Nothing that hasn’t been said before.
I found it hard; it’s hard to find;
The words they fail me every time.
We can plant a house, we can build a tree.
If you wouldn’t care I would like to leave.
Burlesque Press 
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