The most recent verses float to the top…

An Open Window

The cessation of smoking doesn’t cease for anyone.
In successions of cycles moments meet the frozen glum.

Out of sadness,
In between the mountain tops;
Fierce but flummoxed,

Nowhere paints a pretty picture.
The aroma of this interaction is the inverse  reflection of the mirror-image of the picture looking back at you through the open window.

Word Soldiers

Your words are your soldiers;
your sentences, the military.

Speaking wages wars,
as a matter of course.

Yet silence can only arise
as the after-birth of speech.

Benevolent Black Hole

Benevolent black hole
Beneath a soccer player’s goal
Phantasmagoric traveling troll
Is this a diamond or a coal?

Under the Covers

I see the mountains from the kitchen
I fight their reflection
I see the river from the office
Union is perfection

We belong just where we are
As soon as named it now is far
One is the number above all others
How does one count beneath the covers?

A Clearer Mirror

This is itself the mirror.
The mirror is the plate of experience.

The experience is self and not-self.

Wealth beyond wealth it renders clearer.
Here is the experience of self on the mirror.

A Pair of Genius

If you can trace the roots of your genius to genealogy,
of course I mean it etymologically, then go ahead and claim yourself.

I’m a genius.

If you can trace your genealogy to the genius of the past,
then there’s nothing left for you to learn in conventional class.

Sitting here together, our genius fluctuates like weather;
whether or not we are aware, you and I will always be a pair.

I Throw Shame

I throw shame; I throw shade,
as I stroll here in the glade.

Having fun, mind undone,
in a realm the Buddha made.

Nothing’s made nor destroyed; still the lame one’s get annoyed,
in a parcel plainly postured not to purify imposters.

The War Zone

Samsara is the war zone; home is the back of the mind.
The front of the mind is the reflection of the back of the mind.
Time is balls of light turning into streams as we zoom by in this human vehicle.

Tattered Monk

He thought he had the answer
Then cancer came to greet him

Although calm and collected
The debt did defeat him

Renouncing life and all its strife he quit that comely city
He shaved his head, honored the dead, and yet he still felt shitty

He dawned the robe to save the globe but no one needed saving
This tattered monk was quite the punk to try and conquer craving

The abbot let him have it when he criticized his temper
“Son you may be asked to leave if this you can’t remember.”
Then petulant and full of pride the monk replied “That’s nonsense!”
“I am not here to meditate or purify my conscience.”

“You think you’re clever, witty, wry; these won’t bring you advantage.
You’re crooked concepts fog the mind and waste what you’ve been granted.
Sitting’s what we practice at this not too shabby abbey.
Keep it up you foolish pup and stay forever crabby.”

“I mean no disrespect good sir, I’ve just become exhausted.
I know my mind is rather weak and easily accosted.
Still I think my stance is sound for liking’s circumvented.
My petulance is no offense when mindfully attended.”

“Though well considered please consider those who came before you.
They sat for years through tears and fears so we would have a way too.
Just because you’ve seen the truth does not grant you exemption.
Consistent practice is the path to transforming redemption.
Still hold not to this lofty goal or else it may ensnare thee.
A brazen youth defames the truth by feigning to be carefree.”

Already had the answer
When the cancer came to greet him

No fear of death could take his breath
No beings dared entreat him

His understanding stood commanding blessings from the village
Known to be rude the town ensued to plunder karmic spillage

Remembering master’s careful words the monk noticed his senses
He sat down right there on the spot and relinquished his defenses

Though nothing changed he did arrange his mental landscape clearly
Still petulant and full of pride for he was human merely

Percolating Politics

Perhaps persnickety politics percolate
Propagate savages mincing the averages
Master eats cabbage and rye

Wherefore the weather was wither
Whenever the winter had wowed us with why’s
Only the oligarchs ominous oculus
Constitutes something with eyes

Ministers mastered the magic of making a minimal criminal ground
Parishioners practiced the commoners cactus corroding a colorful sound
But lovers are lavishly littering lechery
Happily hosting a hound

Famished and flustered the fryer had mustered fecundity’s fortunate face
While secretly senators subjugate sedatives Solomon sat there displaced

Pity the Solomon Gollum galore
Verily found at the housekeepers door
Distance determined by damnable dues
Needlessly naming the numinous news

However heartily the heavens heave
Hecklers hath an honor higher for a hundred human hustlers
Simply sample seven sacred prisms for the doom ‘n cluster

Now I know a chorus cryptic for us
Take a titans timber leaves
Do you know whence comes the forest
This is that for which he grieves

Intended items issue instant vindicated minds
Auspicious answers acting after inculcate the blinds
Effervescent ether ever elevates endangered finds

Never noticed nifty name-tags nor a ne’er-do-well
Nonetheless the ninjas needed nine November knells

Pity the Solomon Gollum galore
Verily found at the housekeepers door
Distance determined by damnable dues
Needlessly naming the numinous news

Perchance perspective perpetuates problems
Promises postulate possible penance
They propagate parties is Paris and Venice

Perhaps persnickety politics percolate
Poverty privilege and premium real estate

After Evening Splendor

Welcome to the after evening splendor of the mind’s delight
Where all that’s left to do is to create you
Hawley calmly illuminated the illusory circuitry of fright
Now degenerates like us freely partake too

As these words echo silently in your head
They may merge into myriad mangy moments
Please do enjoy this after evening splendor

Beyond what’s frightful and delightful
Sit the patient and insightful
Most likely it’s a disciple
Where creed and class no more obtain

This isn’t the start of something new
This is what I told I took from you
Without substance or seeing straight
Time had the time to banish hate

Slippery slopes slide on when free association ends
Here winners win and friends stay friends

Degenerate Deities

Rick and Morty, Forty Days of Summer thieves the night
A quicker question frees a lesson’s answer from the plight

Mothers ache and babies take, the Middle Way is clear
Fathers break a bond that makes the mirror clogged in fear
Yet if they’re listening real close the mirror isn’t here

Addiction’s not affliction at the highest plains of diction
Sobriety is piety for those without a mission
If destitute just rest in truth the universe will listen

Degenerate deities determine domains
They cry that it’s they who withstand the most pain

Gods eat like kings
Kings think they’re gods
The serfs revolt against all odds

This one is us you me she he him her
Pronouns push a pauper forward up against the blur

Infer what’s said and you’ll be dead
Or stay right here and thrive
This place, this one
Right here, right now
Is what it means to be alive


Presidents preside over us,
or Obama did at least.

Residents ride on a lonely bus;
they were born enjoying the feast.

Vagabonds are scum of the earth;
You know what I mean, I’d bet my worth.

The Functioning of the Mind

When a thought occurs that’s worthwhile
I express it

To carry myself forward and express my thoughts is illusion
That my thoughts come forth and express themselves is clarity

Use these allusions to assuage the disparity:

History never didn’t exist
Moses comes down from the mountain continually
Where could samsara subsist or persist
Feelings feel only in minimally

I use affect and logic to untangle the self
To be present this moment’s past needing of help

Wherever You Wanna

Are you on the road to hell
Are you trapped within samsara
Are you lost without a light
Hunted by demons and Mara?

Have no fear
God is here

Yes the present is nirvana
You can find yourself within
And go wherever that you wanna.

The Question of Dharma

This is the situation as is
There’s nothing to be done
Yet doing occurs all the same

I present my presenting your presence
Not a problem, nor precious, nor plain
Perhaps let this serve as reminder
For how much we’re playing a game

But if I’m to be picky about wording
The game plays itself I might say
And the ‘we’ who are supposedly playing
Are illusions within the display

Now as to the question of dharma, of dao, of action, of law
These uncountable appellations
Betray true unfolding, here, raw

What arises for you now? This is the dharma.