One hundred ways to remember
maybe more
I’ve been practicing it as an art
Through straw, over tongue, down throat
one and then another
to let up is to fail
recall is the weakness of man
memory is the illusion of continuity
is the destructive sense of self ––
that privileged “I” – that wonderful “me” ––
bleaching white the years
into virginal emptiness
It’s not a disease, deplorable,
it is downright Buddhist –
pawning all I own
ridding one’s self of possessions
converting profit into piss
and then waking up, crawling in ants
under the blue gum tree
no sense of how I got there
free from failure
success and worry
in an agonizingly blissful mode of operation
launching the husk of what used to be,
what the unenlightened me called “me,”
across the still lake waters
skipping merrily – at one – joining the great universal
accepting the inevitable sink,
buying the occasional drink.


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2 Responses to “Buddhaholism”

  1. thoughtsontheatre Says:

    Really liked this.

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