When I was in the start
of my mental illness problem,
I exhibited physical movements
which bothered me,
because I thought they
were crazy,
but now, some forty years later,
I realized
that what I was doing
was mental illness yoga,
which was the body's way
of trying to cure me,
and the first yogic movement
that I did
was rocking back and forth
as I was sitting,
so now
I have tried it
by synchronizing
my breathing
and my internal music
along with it,
and it becomes
very healing,
so my mentally ill mother
used to tap
her fingers
on her legs
one at a time,
so I have tried that
and synchronized it,
and a friend
used to pull down
on his sideburns
in a kind of stroking manner,
so that's a good one,
and another friend
stroked his legs
back and forth
just above the knees,
and that one is excellent,
so I move my legs
in opposite directions, fast,
back and forth,
and that one works well,
so I roll my head around
in circles,
and that actually is
a yogic practice
called head rolls,
and I move my head
back and forth, sideways,
like Stevie Wonder,
and that works great,
so I would suggest
that if you have
any kind of eccentric movements
like these,
to develop them
and turn them into yoga,
because it just might be
the answer
to many problems.

My life
has been all about
thoughts fighting
with thoughts
about thinking,
about to think
or not to think,
and it was an interesting
war
but stupid
and I learned a lot
about nothing
and it was extremely painful.
This war
was started
by who knows who
for no reason.
I have decided,
along with the Dalai Lama,
that what is needed
is a dialogue,
so mind has been talking
to mind
about what the reality
of this is.
We have decided
that the reality
of this is
a headache,
which could,
in time,
get better.

Things just as they are
as I walk on the sidewalk
thinking about fearing people
and loving them
when the morning sun
caused my eyes to look down.

In a swiveling chair, the black and white images of light to the west, are reflections of mind in a humming machine. Turning a head, there is a closed window, showing an energetically inspired pen the nearing sunset.
                                                Moon swept itching dark
                                             Twilight, sunrises curtain
                                                   pink lids - open eyes

With a blink of instaneous awakeness and sleep, the neck turns fast, to look for inspiration.
                                                    Dusk - apart painted
                                              eight queued paired mare and foal
                                                     foliage lined dark black
Without my sister's presence, the filmed horse's birth is only an image, lost. Indeed, it's the shadows of sunlight that have lit up the southerly tree with darkness!

I recently read
that Brautigan's last manuscipt
had small pieces
of his brain matter
stuck to the paper
which got there
after he blew his brains out,
and today
after I had written a poem,
I had an insight
into the mind
of Brautigan.
It made me cry.
Brautigan was a poet
who wrote tender, funny,
light poetry
which I always thought
had something
underneath it
which was deep and profound.
I found out
that a poet like Bruatigan
or me
had a deep
despair, anguish, depression,
suffering, and pain
which lay underneath
this light, funny poetry.
When he died,
I bought
as many books by him
as I could find
and laid them
on a table
and lit a candle.

There's a lot of news
these days
about the one percent
who have all the money
and the ninety nine percent
of us
who don't have much
of anything
so I got thinking
about how sad and unfortunate
it must be
to be the one percent
with stalkers and identity thieves
and the media attacks
and the hatred towards them
and how they have to protect themselves
in their fortresses
clinging to their fortunes
dreaming like Citizen Kane
of the happy times
in their chilhood, sledding,
when they were poor
while us ninety nine percent
who are the lucky ones
like me with my income of poverty
are greedy for a piece of them
so I even want a million dollars
even though I have enough
of everything
so I don't know if any of this
is true,
but think of a rich person
sitting on his toilet...
where is his money then?

Coffee stain     on a white cup
painted with black     for fine art's sake

goes walking     within my hands
to the bathroom     for a cleaning.

"Wash your cup!"     the zen master said
and the student     broke on through.

I think
I have good taste
in music,
since I have studied it
formally,
but it occurs to me
that my taste
is sometimes
in my mouth
and that I am a phony
sometimes
about what
I really like,
for example
I used to listen
to "Twenty First Century Schizoid Man"
and loved it,
but I had
a secret crush
on Captain and Tenneille's
"Love Will Keep Us Together"
and I wouldn't tell anyone,
because it wasn't correct
to like it,
so, I am a closet fan
of Madonna,
even though
I'm not supposed to be,
and liked Prince and Michael Jackson
which, at the time,
I wasn't supposed to,
because if I told
my friends,
they would thumb
their noses.

When I was about
five years old,
I was sitting
on a swing,
depressed,
because there
was nothing fun
to do,
so I asked my mom,
"Mom, what's there to do?"
and she said back,
"Go clean your room."
but I didn't want to do that
because that was no fun
so I just sat there longer,
depressed and restless,
and so begins
a lifetime
of low restlessness,
until tonight
when I have uncovered
the secret answer,

and that is
that when I don't feel
like I know what to do
and it seems like
there's nothing to do,
I sit down
in a chair
and in my case,
I think and smoke,
to entertain myself,
and then
I wait
until the one right special thought
occurs to me
about the one right fun thing
to do,
and then I go do it,
and this seems like an obvious simple understanding
but there really is something deeper to it,
like that it is the cure
for my entire problem,
and maybe other's problems,
too.

Buddha taught
about "mere words"
since words
in one sense
are like numbers
without any real meaning
like they're all Greek to me
but I think
being something
like a poet
that words
can be powerful
with the capability
of transforming lives
by the process
of the links
that occur
in the mind,
connecting a myriad
of connotations
and denotation
that set off
a potent brain chemistry
that can make the difference
between a kind of sanity
and a kind of madness.

I drank beer,     one double beer
and am writing     about nothing

because now     not knowing will
save us, today,      on top of this

chair with pen     in the unknown hand
that holds the ink    of knowing.

I was meditating
with the life mudra
in an attempt
to understand life,
and so I chanted
the first word
that came to mind
and it was "Mo"
so I thought
of homosexuality
and Larry and Curly
and then I chanted
the second word
which came to mind
and it was "Da"
and I thought of
my late father
and just now
I think of stupidity
and then I chanted
the third word
which came to mind
and it was "Su"
so I thought of
my first girl friend
and I am thinking
of litigation
so I thought of
the fourth word
which came to mind
and it was "Ma"
so I thought of
my late mother
and the Korean word
for mind,
so I put them all together
and I got
"Modasuma"
which meant
spring, summer, fall, and winter
to me
and then I looked
modasuma
up on the internet
and gathered
in my ignorance
of the Spanish language
that moda suma
is a South American museum
that was visited
by Amy Winehouse.

When I get out of bed
at night,
the mind is quite nuts
because it is on auto-pilot,
and stuck in an in-between
dream and awakening state,
and the autonomic nervous system
is what is working,
in it's automatic way,
but I get nervous
that maybe some demons
crawled into my ears
while I was asleep,
so I begin to meditate,
and that calms me,
but I shouldn't be afraid
of that lizard mind
because it could well
be illuminating.

I was sitting
outside of my house
years ago,
thinking about a sad song called,
"Can't Find My Way Home",
and I felt homesick
even though
I was sitting there
at home,
so here are some ideas
about home,
and the first is
that home is the place
where I feel I belong,
so that would be
this present moment
right here, right now,
but I usually don't exactly
feel like I belong here now,
so another idea
is that home is where
I am happy all the time,
with peace and love in my life
all the time,
but I usually don't exactly
feel like that is the case at all,
so another idea
is that home is where
I am rich and successful
but I'm certainly not that
and probably won't be
in this lifetime,
so I have another idea
that home is being
with the family,
but I don't exactly
feel quite at home
with the family,
so another idea
is that home is this body/mind
that I live in,
but that place
doesn't feel quite like home either,
so I have this idea
that Buddha was at home
when he realized full enlightenment,
but I don't know,
and I probably won't get there
any time soon,
so I have come
to the conclusion
that there is no home,
like we think of home,
anywhere,
so I guess that makes me
homeless,
like Buddha suggested
that I be.

What I love
the most in the world
is packaging
like how the fine companies
who sell us
their product
protect us from evil bacteria
and how the icing
from Toaster Strudels
comes out of the plastic
in neat little lines
and also
what I love
the most in the world
is signage
like how do you know
where you are
without the signage?

I just go beboping around
happily
until I come
to a dharma gate
which is an obstacle
that can be inside
or it can be outside
and I think
the purpose
of these gates
is to test
us practitioners
to see if we
can continue on,
so this morning
I came to a big, nasty
dharma gate
put there inside
by a pretty lady
and as I have discovered
along the path
the only way
to get through
one of these doors
is with love.

I think
Zen has been taught
all wrong
for a long time,
because the common understanding
is that Zen gives you
peace of mind,
an empty mind,
a mind which doesn't think,
and other such hogwash,
so I can explain
what Zen meditation
does to me,
and that is
that it brings up
much chi energy
to my head,
because of the way
that the eyes are fixed
and the posture
and the breathing
and the mantra,
and so
the mind becomes
stronger, more powerful,
more active,
not more peaceful
and passive,
and as such
it is conducive
to such phenomena
as internal music,
much thinking,
channeling,
telepathy and psychic powers,
seeing things,
hearing things,
and imagining things,
therefore
if you are getting into Zen
for peace of mind,
you've gone
to the wrong place.

My old pen
has been retired
and a funky new one
has temporarily
taken its place
because it seems to me
that I shouldn't stick
with the same old things
or else
I will get stuck.

I open the little box
which contains
two small cubes
of instant tea stuff
and heat the teapot
until it makes a continuous buzz
and I drop in a tea cube
in my black and white tea mug
pour in the hot water
and watch as bubbles rise to the top
stir it up
take it over to the sofa
where I sit and sip
my sweet Chinese tea.

So while
"Gate, Gate,
Paragate,
Parasamgate,
Bodhi,
Svaha!"
is the Great Dharani
and the Radiant Supreme Mantram,
we must also
keep in mind
The Lesser Dharani
of
"Oo Ee
Oo Ah Ah
Ting Tang
Walla Walla Bing Bang"
and also meditate
on the Lesser Mantram
of
"Ohwah
Tagoo
Siam"
and always remember
that us poets
are all enlightened
because we know
the sound
of one hand clapping
because
we always seem
to hear it
when we read aloud
at poetry readings.

Buddha doubts wisdom.
Buddha loves quiet.
Buddha's very polite.
Buddha radiates x-rays.
Buddha tells truths.
Buddha's ***** blasts.

It's my birthday
and I'm fifty-nine
and I heard a song
by a paranoia producing
songwriter
who said that
it was too late
and this message
seems to come through
to us often
so I know I shouldn't say never
but I'm saying it
and it's not too late
and even if I die right now,
death is no end to life
and even then
it's not too late
and then comes the question,
"Too late for what?"
"This?".

Some people
look for wisdom
in books and the internet
but I have found
that I only find
other's wisdom there
and can't find the wisdom
which I need
so I have discovered
that wisdom is found
in the head
where thoughts
become words
become ideas
and many look
for wisdom in the heart
but that's just a blood pump
and the head
has taken a bad rap
by the Asian religions
and Star Wars
but I believe
in the mind
where I find
wisdom
and even compassion
but I try to remember
to keep the Socratic idea
that I actually don't know anything.

A doctor told me
to smack the bed
with a tennis racket,
and when I was young
I beat up
my stuffed dog,
and when I got older
I attacked the trees
in the back yard,
so now in my late middle years
I hit the chair
three times
and then bow to it.

Numerology disturbs
my fragile mind
with its meanings
of numbers
which I think
have no real meaning
or use as symbols
or signs
and I seem to have
a built-in bent
ingrained in my head
toward assigning
definitions of meanings
to these homogeneous numbers
even though
my conscious mind
rebels at the thought
so, you know,
when some
sign of a monster
comes popping up
into my life
I get a bit
of a freak-out twinge
but, I know,
nothing ever happens.

We clean
and then it
gets *****
so we clean
and then it
gets *****
and we get sick
and then
we get well
and we even get drunk
and then
we get sober
so we clean
and then it
gets *****
and for better
and for worse
we are married
to this cycle of life
so let's all try
to stay in love
and enjoy eternity.

So this morning
I was tired
and passing out
on the chair
so I decided
as a good Buddhist
to wake up
and defeat sleepiness
so I went
out to the patio
where it was cool
and meditated
dropping off occasionally
until at last
after much trying
I defeated sleep
and woke up
and Buddha has said
that sleep is the closest thing
to death.

In my sleep
last night,
someone was talking
to me,
I think,
so I woke up
with knowledge
about the right way
to wake up,
and it's so simple
that an idiot knows it,
but the world
and all the Great Religions
don't teach it,
so here it is -
wake up gradually.
Duh.
So I opened my eyes
and got out of bed
and sat for awhile
then moved slowly
for awhile
and then sped it up
a little at a time
until I was moving
at everyday life speed.
Duh.
That is the right way to wake up.
Now we're cookin'!

I turn on one electric light
usually
to see in the dark
and no electric lights
in the daytime,
because I try
not to waste energy
and natural resources,
because they are precious,
so I recycle
as much as I can
and I take cloth bags
to stores,
and I turn off
and even unplug
almost everything
in the house,
and I use
as little water
as I can,
but, you know,
sometimes
I just say ***** it
to conservation
and throw stuff away,
because it's not good
to get stuck
in some ****
philosophy.

My blond hair
parts on the right
and is straight
and thin.

My tan hair
is cut by a yogi
who has colon cancer
and I miss her.

My shorter hair
was very long
in the days of yore
like the sixties.

My brownish hair
once was
like short hair
that is in style
today
except with
butch wax
to make the front
stand up.

The tan hair
of the ladies
attracts me
especially
if it is
long and curly.

The blond hair
of my father
turned white
in his old age
but he
kept saying
that it
was blond.

What has hair
got to do
with it?
Heaven only
knows.

I trust myself
to write down
what's on the mind
like about the time
in the canoe
when I stuck out
the paddle
and flipped the thing
over.

I say
loose/tense/tense/loose
inside
with a high note
and a low note
on my breath
and why
do I do this?
The Great Equality.

There is a quiet way
to work out
our craziness.
It's an inside job.
It can be done
with thought
and other expressions
of mind.
One way
to deal
with the madness
is by writing a poem.
Another way
to deal
with the madness
is by being a poem.
Here it is.

It's a drug
like medicine
and I get
side effects
like tiredness
and angry thoughts
and little bits
get stuck
between my teeth
so I have to go
upstairs
and floss
and after I eat
I always seem
to feel
the need to sleep
which I often do
even as I used to
when I worked
but it's necessary stuff
to have every day
so I think
that in a few minutes
I will go downstairs
and have a pickle.

So at the bookstore
I talked to people
and realized later
that they were all there
for me
and that I was there
for them
and it filled me
with a great mind liberation
and a great love
so then
I realized
that everyone
is here for me
and that I am here
for everyone
who is here
and that's everyone
so I also realized
that evil people
are here
to test me
and that people
who just pass through
are here for me
and that people
who try to sell me stuff
are here for me,
so this
is my Sangha,
my family,
the one's I care about -
us.

I have a blockage
in my head
caused by an old broken nose
so it creates
a headache
that neither helps
nor hinders
and when life
presents an obstacle
I go around it
by just paying.

Love, I think, doesn't exist.
Only loving acts.
They're always.

My sister
was sewing
like a little mom
as I sat, rocking,
on the sofa
terrified
of a song
about garbage.

So, for breakfast
I had
raw broccoli,
spanish olives,
nuts and berries
and my daily bread
among other things,
so I think
that anything goes
when eating,
except that some food
is poison
and some food
is so good for you,
it is thought,
that you can go
a little crazy
about health food
like that,
so my suggestion
is to eat
what you're hungry for,
and a good way
to find out
is to look
at your belly,
because the belly
knows.

They seem to me
to have to live
in a public nightmare
of being known
even though nobody knows
and it seems to me
to be a surrealistic hell
of flashing lights
and strangers
who know everything
without knowing anything
and people want
a piece of them
and people even
take potshots at them
so us little people
should probably be happy
that we're not famous.

The poetry editors said
"No vocabulary - No poetry"
so I thought
"Great! I won't use any big words!"
and the poetry editors said
"Don't write poetry that is like a thesis"
so I thought
"Great! I'll write my philosophy!"
and they said
"We only want poetry with beautiful imagery"
so I thought
"Great! I won't write any flowery word pictures!"
and they said
"Be patient with your poetry and don't rush it"
so I thought
"Great! I'll be spontaneous and not edit anything!"
and they said
"Don't write anecdotal poetry"
so I thought
"Great! I'll write little story poems!"
and they said
"No spelling mistakes"
so I thought
"Great! I'll intentionally misspel"
and they said
"Don't write about your ordinary, mundane life"
so I thought
"Great! I'll write about my ordinary, mundane life!"
and they said
"No cliches"
so I thought
"Great! I'd love to use old tired worn-out cliches!"
and they said
"Don't be redundant"
so I thought
"Great!"
and then the Buddhist nuns suggested
that I write formlessly,
so I tried every form
I could think of,
and then the Zen master suggested
that I just write my thoughts,
so that's what I do,
although this is not exactly
how my thoughts go,
so that's how I learned to write poetry
in my personal school
of self-help stupidity!

A lion is awake,
scanning two pillars
which surround
the black rock
and the wooden talisman,
safely,
in the middle.

Dream-like,
the thumping music
from a far-away room
(seen as invisible)
causes the cat
to ponder
the words

that should be forgotten.
Language disturbs the peace.

My pen
broke down
and I tried
another
but that one
didn't work
so I fixed
my old pen
so okay.

I smell like cigarette smoke.
I sometimes smell like a ****.
Sometimes, I have that, you know, man smell.
I have noticed a musty kind of odor.
Once in a while, I smell like incense.
Breath is disturbing to some, when it comes out of the mouth.
Right now, I don't smell anything particularly.
That's how it usually is.
I don't know what you think.
What do you think?

The toy piano
is played twice
once on the right
and once on the left.
The toy harp
is played twice
once on the left
and once on the right.
This music
ends badly
but brings me
joy.
It is silent now
except for the beautiful humming.

He asked me,
"Who is in control
of your smoking?
You or your cigarettes?"
and I thought
that both of us were,
that it is a mutual habit,
that I know
when I am smoking
and when I am about
to light one,
but cigarettes
have this way
of talking you into it,
or is it the mind?

Summer wind turning
the daisies in all motions
in the dance of days.

My music
is spontaneous
and comes
from the instant
that it takes place
often without
any ideas
at all
so I am sitting
typing at the keyboard
playing little clicking tones
on my qwerty piano
writing about
nothing in particular
only this music
in its current score form
that documents
a person's existence
like this guy
here.

I come from a past
of relentless suffering
that is a place
called Samsara
which is none other
than life,
so now I reside
in a place
that is a paradise
called Nirvana
which is none other
than life,
and the difference
is a simple understanding
which depends on how you look
at life
but in order to get here
I needed much work
at self-imposed brain-washing
or should I say
Mind-Cleansing.