Tag Archives: buddha

The miner

                                                      She was waiting
                                                by the open window
                                                  for the sun to set
                                                 smoking a cigarette
                     but it never did
                       that night


         The Velvet Underground spun around
         on the thrift store phonograph
                                  it sounded
                      almost like Aphex Twin

                    a full moon
                     or a straight line
                       insufflated off a mirror
had her hair all tangled
                                            tied back
                 like some sorta
                                    dying ritual


both of her hands &
        both of her eyes
     would alternate
                                       from screen to screen


was she a hunter—or a dopamine machine


who was she waiting for

                  in nothing but her striped stockings
                                             up to her thighs 
       a black choker with a ring on it &
       an indigo princess plug hidden

                                        by the faux tiffany lamp
                                   cross legged on the bed
                 in a small white room
             with a fat buddha tapestry
                                             twelve floors up
                                            with the window open


no encryption


 the screen turns off
  but the cam stays on



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The affinity

Did you hear
what Sakyamuni said?

No,
what did he say?

He said, the greatest gift
that he could give—

Then the television flicked on

George Bush
stood there
on the aircraft carrier
under a banner:

Mission accomplished