meditation
on a scratch
in the glass top
of my (relatively)
new table
—
are you fucking kidding me!
i just got this goddamn thing!!
i’ve hardly used the fucker!!!
and it’s got a goddamn scratch?
what the holy fucking shit!!!!
—
i mean,
seriously,
it’s a new damn table.
jesus.
and if you
try to hand me
some lame-ass
metaphorical bullshit
i swear to
every god
that ever existed
i will scream so loud
your face
will peel off.
—
seriously,
i mean,
i get to have
nothing nice?
every thing i own
has to be
a fricking demonstration
on the impermanence of things
and a dreary reminder
of the inevitability
of death?
i can’t own
one nice thing
that remains
a nice thing?
—
did i think
i could prove
the Buddha wrong,
that i could get
craving right?
that i could
box off
one corner of life
from suffering?
foolish me.
the B knew his truths.
and now,
i know
mine.