Trickster’s Prayer

we must be quick, because we are in foggy unfamiliar territory,
we must be cunning, because we are vastly out numbered,
we must be charming, because we walk among point toothed angels,
we must be brave, we are scared

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paranoid self

that’s the thing,

the Buddhists never did become enlightened gods,

they never reached that far,

they did their best to tame

their desires,

but Victory isn’t the same as

making the other guy surrender,

that’s how you win a conflict,

but it’s not how you achieve harmony with a chaotic world,

that takes adaptation,

cunning,

which are not the qualities attributed to a group of exclusively male isolationists that refuse to take part in an evolving world because it may “contaminate” them, and create conflict within,

how powerful is that inner peace if something so mundane as an open door can tip the balance within a practiced monk?

what does something so delicate achieve in a harsh impersonal world?

it’s quite an accomplishment, sitting up there on your shelf,

admire it at home where you are safe,

frankly, I want to get out of the house more.

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big things are coming

arms and legs out,

relax,

breathe into your belly,

head back,

chin up,

straighten out your back,

float in to shore

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Intimacy

and some day,

I’ll tell you why they hide the baseball bats from me,

when pop punk comes on.

I’m easy to motivate when I remember being 16.

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Better Things

Don’t you have better things to do than be a boob? People are busy.

Honestly, I cannot think of anything better than boobs.

So no, I don’t have better things to do.

Those things are elegant glorious celebrations of

what a human body can even be.

What’s wrong with boobs?

No, I don’t think that’s entirely juvenile.

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Bedache

I’m sorry darling,

I haven’t been screwed in weeks,

and I just cannot care about what we’re talking about.

Nothing personal. It’s a body thing.

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What you are really missing

is personality. Isn’t that sad?

That’s the problem.

You’re not even sad about it.

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