161 – Sutra

Dark mirrors
Spinning wildly
As the rain
Slowly seeps
Into your soul.

Intravenous nirvana
Pouring down the eyes
Of huge electric Buddhas
Made of flashing neon
And good marketing.

What is ever gained
From second thoughts
And double takes?
Your broken mind
Still twitches in agony.

Someone hands you six-pack
Of assorted bodhisattvas
Ready for consumption,
With a complimentary chaser
Of truths too hard to swallow.

This is not a drill!
Black smoke Dharmapalas
Fill your lungs with fiery mantras
While nonchalantly slicing the throat
Of the latest fashion icon.

Push the button
Of delayed/instant gratification
Until its sharp blades
Strip your flesh
To naked bone.

You can knock forever
At the huge doors of Mount Meru,
There’s no one there to answer.
All the gods have left
For a place with better climate
And good cocktails.

You stand naked and alone
At the wheel
Of this twisted wreckage
On a collision course
With time.

The dead scriptures
Drunk with dust of countless ages
Cannot help you.
Did you at least remember
To charge your phone?

• • •

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