who knows there are so many of them
trying to impress a dorky blend
compassion insight and the mere awareness

here it’s murky there is lots of black
occasional pashmina tight shirts walking skirts
and colored personal skin that’s very vague
and expletive with panty lines—sigh—
let’s all uncover it—
that one is pregnant and
two boys go by on roller shoes…

the desire for—the freedom from delusion. Investigating the nature of delusion from my chair—this is a joy—this is a path—this is a step—this is a way—this is my ignorance—this is the light—this is my death—this is my bag of skin—this is my suffering—this is you—you are impermanent—your attributes give rise to my reactions—there is flux—curtains of loose petals streaming past the window—sun—it’s warm—the lawn—it’s green—it’s trimmed—my neck it aches, how much money in the US goes to lawn care—how many ticks are out there, how many coins, how many undiscovered facts and how much data, how many cells, how many newborn leaves, how many petals and how many sprouts, how many hours digging and how many butterflies are born, how often have you watched a turtle in the last few days—and do you barbecue upon a tiny grill—what are the unique facts of your life if any and how can they endear you to me—how does one “pray” for others—what is the difference between compassionate and sunlight—how can we be brighter and more tender—how can we be burnished and more brave—cherished and with capacity to cherish—all our cherished landscapes in a row—and then—we’re breathing into emptiness—and then—another sprout

The absolute arrogant daring of a teacher. The heartbreak of the curious student. The value of curiosity is discounted. Do not examine. Do not look in. I know what I think, I know what I feel. All is different, the lamb is a dog, the horse is a louse. House. The mercury, the mystery. Free write disjointed. What’s going to sell. Hyperaudience, overengineered society. Leading to exhaustion. Aspire to humility. What do you hear here? What do we hear here? In the giant auditorium filled with five poets. Oh my god. How much compassion do you need?

Questions overflow. Abounding, then melt away like fields of snow. Flocks moving wrestling through the heavens. Harbingers of arbeit. After all, it’s mesh, how much is mesh? I refuse at some point. Stop. Step.