Here in the suburban nature of things
I sit in paradise, not seen that way by others,
and contemplate the wondrous weather
of this moment in summer
when, a few minutes ago, I was on the front porch
just sitting on a flowered chair
but inside the energy of kundalini
was streaming through my body/mind
in an explosive thrill of ecstatic feeling
as I was drinking coffee, quietly.

A computer
rested
for that moment
as a man
wrote on paper
about the lone
cigarette ****
in the ceramic ashtray.

Coming out
into a white room
I am held
upside-down
and spanked
as my mother
lies drugged
as if she
were dead
like I thought.

I was in my chair
outside, on the patio,
when I thought
I would have ***
with my lover Earth,
so remembering
Kurt Vonnegut's
interesting kind of ***
where the two lovers
put their feet together,
I put my feet
on my lover's feet,
and Bam
what a feeling!
so she suggested
that I go eat some dirt
as a kind of communion,
so I watered my **** garden
remembering
that the Earth laughs
in weeds,
and watered the other garden
remembering
that the Earth is dirt,
so I ate
a little pinch
of dirt,
and then she told me,
"Don't worry
about the men
who frack me
and **** me,
I love them
and will give you all
everything,
because there's always more
where that came from."

Summer meant
swimming and no school
but now it means
burning alive
outside
so I hibernate
indoors
in this air-conditioned house.

John Cage
didn't like improvisation,
but he was trying
to get out of his prison
that was caused
by his likes and dislikes,
so, I like improvisation
and I improvise
my life
every day,
so, the time arose
to write a poem
and I thought
that I would improvise,
but improvisation to me
doesn't mean
writing without a thought,
or
writing fast,
or
writing without care,
so,
improvisation is like
what I did in music
at a concert
in a church
a long time ago,
after my band and I
had practiced
for quite awhile,
and once we felt able
to put on a performance,
we did it.

The crazy man seems to hate his mind.
The Zen man loves his mind.
The crazy man doesn't know, and is confused about it.
The Zen man doesn't know.
The crazy man laughs and says, "It's an imperfectly perfect world!".
The Zen man laughs and says the same thing.
The crazy man is unhappy with his life.
The Zen man is happy with his life, most of the time.
The crazy man hears voices.
The Zen man is a voice-hearer.
I know about this
because I have been
both.

So on the fourth of July
I decided to flush Zen
down the toilet,
to give it up
because it has become
such a heavy weight
and when I did
everything
seemed like nothing
more substantial
than water draining
through my fingers
so that was how
I found Zen again.

I just discovered
that this moment
is the one
that I have been waiting for
all of my life
but really
I knew that
all my life.

My father was mowing the lawn.
He called me over and asked,
"Where's your brother?",
I replied, "I don know",
He said back, sharply,
"Use your mind!",
so I thought in my head
about it, and he went,
"Ack, go find him!".
As I was walking away,
I thought, "Use your mind?
I wonder what that means?"

Everything seems to have a way of being not so good sometimes.
I think maybe it's because of atomic makeup or something.
Alcohol is a thing that is not so good most of the time.
I don't know why this is.
They call it spirits so that means it has a spirit.
It can be very tricky.
It can give me foot in mouth disease.
So today because I am a fool, I drank a little bit of whisky.
I said stupid things.
Now, I'm sitting here on a sort of guilt trip.
Oh well, such is life here in the College Of Lifelong Learning that we call earth.

So the song sings
that we are all innocent,
but I don't think
that's true,
of course
maybe nothing is true,
but I think
that we are all
almost not guilty
by reason of insanity,
the insanity
that goes with being
human,
so I seem to know
that I am almost not guilty
because I know
that since I have a book
of all the sins and crimes
of all the people
who I have perceived
to have hurt me,
that everybody else
has a book
on me,
and I seem to know
that they are probably right
about me,
being an *******
in the past,
just like I think
that so many
in my life
were *******
to me,
so we're almost not guilty
by reason of insanity,
so I'll give us
a suspended sentence.

So a little kid
was searching around
the crowded metaphysical bookshop
and he had
an old unplugged telephone
that didn't work,
so he asked
the lady,
"What's this?"
and she said,
"A cord"
so he asked,
"What does that mean?"
and she tried
to explain,
so he asked,
"What do you mean,
connection?"
and she tried
to explain,
so he asked,
"What do you mean,
plugged in, inside?"
and she tried
to explain,
so I rang
a bunch of small cymbals
that were attached
to the chair
that I was sitting on,
and the little kid
put the telephone
down.

I went to an appointment
with the Chinese doctor
and he diagnosed my problem
as head wind flu
so he prescribed
that I wear a hat
and use a blow dryer
then after I left
I felt much better.

"Hello"
"Come in"
"What's been going on?"
"It's the new year"
"What have you been doing?"
"Art...and spiritual practice"
"What kind of art do you do?"
"Poetry, painting and music"
"Oh...can you sell it?"
"No...not really...I put it on the internet"
"Is the medicine OK?"
"Yeah, fine, I've been taking it for a long time"
"OK, see you in a month"
"Bye"

was in a sound
like gunfire &
apparently was
something that
approximated a
fireworks show
when, while he
was meditating
one person was
talking, about
ice cream, and
that was over,
because it was
an earlier          event
when pineapple
is recollected
as bittersweet
rings in sugar
sentiment in a
glass bowl who
was stored, in
this morning &
before, in the
cupboard & at    that
time, the dish
which is daily
and ordinary        was
praised for an
acquaintance           so
very familiar.

They say
we all have
our down days
and I have
many depressed days
about twice a month
when the mind
gets sad, then angry,
then sad again,
but then one day
I wake up
and everything
is better,
and everyday life
becomes Nirvana to me
once again,
so I can't find
any cure
for this yoyoitis
except sitting alone,
smoking cigarettes,
and thinking.

Buddhism likes to think
that we are basically good
and Christianity
likes to think
that we are basically bad
so I think
that we are neither good
nor not good
and that we
are beyond all that,
and sometimes
I think
that everybody
has the Buddha nature,
and sometimes
I think
that everybody
has the ******* nature,
but it strikes me
that good or bad
are just in our heads
so don't forget
to clean it out
once in awhile!

This morning
which is night
to most people
I felt tired
of doing
the same old thing
so I made a change
and here I am.

What is important
is not the *******,
but the way,
not the rewards
but the trip,
so my journey
was directed
toward something
that we call
enlightenment,
which I thought
was some kind
of head explosion,
but that scared me,
so while I desired
enlightenment,
I also thought
that it probably
would **** me,
so my journey
has been an up and down
kind of trip,
and even at its worst,
I was still here!

Darkness of the hour
     awakens
the dream-soaked man,
who arrives
after a pause
and a working
to the unlit room
of Buddha
for a visit
to the red heart
where fire shines
in these bricks,
to lessen the restless
     urges
and further the bliss.

People do not disappear.
Do we come and go?
Are we here?

This morning
I was outside
sitting
and I thought
that I would do
a few dances,
so the first one
in the back yard
was a dance
to Pushan,
the god of the sun,
but I don't know
if there is any such thing
as a god of the sun,
so I bowed
toward the east
and with my Pushan mudra
began to wave my arms around
in some sort of Tai Chi thing
and walk around,
so then there was
the water dance
and the earth dance,
and finally,
I decided
to do a *** dance
to the woman inside of me,
so with my hands in a mudra
in front of my chest,
I waved around
a little more,
and I must have looked
like some kind of nut case
to the neighbors,
but it's alright
because they already know
that I am.

One in
the morning
and my
nervous system
is working
as I notice
by the hissing sound
in my ears.

So somebody and I
were walking down my street
in the slush and the snow
and I noticed that the sun
was traveling the wrong way
so I realized that this was a dream
and I said to the person
"Don't worry about the slush,
it's not real...this is a dream"
and then I decided to fly
as I like to in dreams
when I am awake
and I taught the man with me
to fly and I said "Watch out
for the trees!" and he ran
into one, so we landed
and I thought about
walking through walls
so I approached a house
and tried to walk through
but couldn't, because
I saw that the house
was a painting on canvas.

"First thought - Enlightened thought! Second thought - Buddha thought!" - Samu Sunim

Thoughts don't seem
to be so good
but they probably
actually are.

A giant red cat
is stuffed inside
someone's garage,
and the great beast's tail
is wagging outside.
The little girl
says that she forgot
how large the cat was.
This was the television reality
awhile ago.

This morning
I was preparing
to photograph
something
so I got the idea
of taking
a random photograph
of right where I
was sitting
and this
is the idea
of creating
without any idea
even though
there was
an idea.
The ideas come
to us people
even if

we don't particularly

want them.

I lost
at everything
in life
and wound up
in Nirvana.

My mother
was born
twenty-seven years
before I was,
so is that
ahead of me,
or is that
behind me,
so me
being younger
come later
in the sceme of things
so that makes me older,
or does it?

Submitted
one poem
to "The New Yorker"
at age seventeen.

Rejected.

Submitted
one poem
to "Stinkface"
at age forty-two.

Accepted!

Well, we all probably hear voices inside,
these days,
so here's a fun game
to play with your voices,
what you could do
is to talk to them
and listen to their answers,
and goof around with them,
and play with them,
and write down
what they say,
and stuff like that,
but just keep in mind
the simple idea
that they are not exactly real
and that what they say
is not exactly true
or not exactly false,
and have fun with them,
so then
you're not crazy,
you're just fooling around
having fun,
so try talking to Napolean
or Buddha or somebody like that
and have fun.
Amen!

Why do poets
seem to know me
when they don't know me
at all
and so we say
how much we love
each other
but we're looking
at a computer
and I love
the computer
and I love you
I guess
but I don't know
who the heck you are.

Fingers touching with thumbs touching in a pose of air,
like velvetine cloth instead of this fleshy stuff,
full with blood and muscle and skin with blue lines,
on fire now with tapping the plastic keys of a mechanical toy,
down from above where the light makes my eyes wide,
silly addition to man's genius which will save us,
just like his berries and apples that fill us with gasoline,
on fire like my late father who poured it on something,
with car's engines purring like oceans out on the roads,
away from all trouble, people perched on vinyl seats,
talking about their troubles to others with theirs,
as beings all over are sleeping.

Sitting in an old wicker chair
that has an orange pillow
on its seat
I nod
and remember
that this ordinary life
which so many of us
don't really like
is actually nirvana
whatever that is.

Haldol is a psychiatric drug
for mental illness
that I am on,
and when it is mixed
with Zen,
a peculiar thing happens
in that everything
that Zen says to do,
I do the inverse,
so if Zen tells me to not think,
I think twenty-four hours a day,
and if Zen tells me
to eat health food,
I eat bologna sandwiches,
and if Zen says "No alcohol!",
I drink beer,
and if Zen says "No smoking",
I smoke two and a half packs
a day,
and if Zen says that everything
is impermanent,
I think
that everything is permanent,
and if Zen says
to quieten the mind,
I listen to a thousand voices
inside,
and it makes me happy,
and so,
there was beat Zen,
where anything goes,
and there is straight Zen,
where nothing goes,
and then,
there is haldol Zen,
where we go
in a completely different direction,
so, the moral
of this story is
you must find
where you're at.

My Zen priest
taught me
to eat ****
like fruit.

My Zen priest
taught me
to catch thoughts.

My Zen priest
taught me
to exclaim
the word "**", loudly.

My Zen priest
taught me
that the purpose of life
is to make as much money
as you possibly can.

Don't be suckered
by a Zen priest.

I'm tired and sick.
There's no cause of it.
There's no cure for it.
I'm just tired and sick.

Some days are like this.
Some mornings I wake up with a head telling me what a loser I am.
It makes me feel lower than whale *****.
I try to love each day, but these kind of days are hard to love.
However, as we know from the song, the blues is allright.
So, I drag myself upstairs and write a poem.
That's better than suicide.

I watched a documentary on Buddhism.
The show talked about a little girl.
She was upset that Buddha didn't tell her about where she would be reborn.
Buddha told her that she should be concerned with how to eliminate her suffering in the present moment.
I thought that my problem was that I was overly complicating my religion.
It occured to me that my religion should be about making me feel better.
I feel better now.

The birds outside
are musical
and noisy
as is
the television
in this world
where there
is always sound
unless we
can find
the bottom of it
where there
is no sound.

Buddha says
to have no outflows
and I have recently noticed
that I have powerful outflows
in my meditation practice
so I decided to try
some new practices
which are nothing new
and they are
just sitting,
just standing,
and just dancing,
and those sound simple
but there is more to it
that you might imagine.

So, the pity ***
is what
they call it,
when you are sitting
on the toilet
of despair,
feeling sorry for yourself,
but not just sorry,
but like you think
of suicide,
but you won't try that
because that's another thing
that you're just
no good at,
so you sit
thinking you are a pathetic loser
because you have lost
at everything you have ever tried,
and you call yourself that,
"...pathetic loser...",
and you think
that since you can't **** yourself,
the only other option
is to go back to drinking,
but the beer
that you just had
is probably the reason
you are sitting
on this ***,
so all is completely dark and bleak,
so bleak that it seems
to everyone
that it can't get any worse,
and that's when you receive
some terrible news
that makes everything more
desperate,
and you seem to know
that every day of your life
has been like this,
but here's the big finish
and the moral
to the story,
and that is
that your life
hasn't really been
that bad,
it's just that
while sitting on the pity ***,
you can't remember
the good parts.

In an exposed room
of Zen and a pen,
I appreciate
the warm spring night
with a light bulb
     reflection
in the glass
of the present
above the head
of the seated lady
who sparkles
while holding
an empty vase,
and shifting my gaze,
the miniature birds
perch quietly,
as the table shakes
from the actions
of scribbling,
so the smiling man
with the raised sword
holds a pearl
by his heart
and one true self
reads, "The Joy
Of Dirt."

Red beauty.
Line war, wet, naked valley.

Context.

Haiku pub open, lost.
Used love vital.
Screaming life's critique:

Duality!

Colours high...far...hidden.

I understand
the art
in a blank canvas.

I have been severely deluded for my whole life.
I have been hoping for The One Truly Good Thing to happen.
I have been desiring a Good Thing all the time.
I have realized that there is no Good Thing.
It is a delusion.
The television sells the Good Thing as, for example, a fast food fish sandwich.
"You can search the whole world, and never find anything as good as this fish sandwich."
**.
I had a desire today for a Good Thing.
Something like The Best *** or something.
When The Good Thing does come, it's not really that Good.
And it passes as soon as it's over with.
If it's something like Winning The Lottery, sometimes that can even go bad.
If it's something like Getting The Big Break or Making Your Dreams Come True, sometimes that can even go bad.
Waiting For Your Ship To Come In is a mistake.
Today, I have decided for myself that the Good Thing is already here.
This moment and each moment is the Good Thing.
I just don't usually realize it because I have a headache.

We were told
that the Zen mind
is none other than
the ordinary mind
so we went out looking
for the ordinary mind
and we were told
that the here and now
was none other than
nirvana
so we went out looking
for the here and now
and after much painstaking searching
we arrive where we were
when we got started,
which is right here
at this moment
with our ordinary mind!

My dad said break a leg.
If any of you have
a broken leg, don't believe.
Visited our healing
in the fact of dad's acting
center. Body/works in you.
A neighbor had a broken leg,
are likely to know my
old house and my dad. So,
wife, if you have been in
like I thought, but it
recently, you are also
not in, but his wife is out.
Likely, to know she tore
some poems of mine, but I
ligaments in her ankle.

Music talks to me
and it bugs me
sometimes
because the message
is not so great,
but sound
doesn't say anything
and I listen
a lot
to the noise
of the world
that, to me,
sounds like music,
but the radio
plays music
that talks
and the message
is not all that great,

(but I love it anyway).