I’m a nail
not a big steel industrial spear
just your average 2-incher
a household item
used for many chores
but not prized for any.

The hammer has pounded me
part way into the wood
where I’m stuck
not loose
but not tight either.

The wood says ouch
I say sorry
but it’s too late

here comes the hammer again.

Add Abilify to your Pristiq
and if you don’t feel better
in a few days
we’ll add 150 milligrams of Welbutrin
and if you don’t feel better
in a few days
we’ll double that
but if Abiliify puts fat on you
like some of the corticosteroids
we’ll replace it with Saphris
and hope that doesn’t upset your stomach
and if you don’t feel better
in a few days
we’ll cut out caffeine and nicotine
and if you don’t feel better
in a few days
we’ll cut out high fructose corn syrup
and if you don’t feel better
in a few days
we’ll stop sodas and candy
and if you don’t feel better
in a few days
we’ll do an fMRI of your brain
and by then you will be so tired
of chasing happiness
that you will just sit down on the couch
and play with your cat
who knows better than you

Gotama was unlicensed
went to graduate school
in caves along rivers
eating one grain a day
seeking the happy place
where great beasts and ships
gratefully anchor and lie in the sun.

Christ laughed at thin laws
refused to relent
poured glowing love
all over the Pharisees
and isn't it sad
that officious therapists
blindfolded to the heart
spew grey diagnoses
to describe pathologies
ignoring the daimons
of each soul
labeled in their great sad files.

Rumi cut a great poem
into his thigh with a dagger
and loved when people read it . . .

Smell the wind. Eat mutton.
Do not waste your days
inventing litanies of sadness
looking for broken places
in your heart.
When the doctor asks for his fee
reach inside your chest
pull out your heart
hold it before him
say nothing.

Not long
after you pass out
exhausted from playing
the futile game of anomie
hoping to slumber with Eros
here comes Trickster
up out of the pillow
like mist

he just wants to talk
about a great stone hearth
the fireplace of the gods
at the paradoxical center
of a groundless void
and everyone there
is laughing and smiling
and you know they love you.

There will be no better days
there were no bad days
there were just so many days
one after another and another and another
and there will be unendingly more
because this is never done…

…each day is a quantum string of moments
shimmering with meter, rhythm and rhyme
if you listen
moments make days of music...

…but not loud
more like angels whispering to each other
just out of earshot
there it is
behind the other sounds
traffic of door and automobile
the hiss that kills the middle ear
that makes hummingbirds hide…

…so just listen;
be present
and the leaves will shiver in delight
as the hawk cries
and cat stiffens
and you finish your latte
and the barrista smiles at you
and you…


…remember childhood’s pets
rain rivers on windowpanes
through which you sat and watched
cinemas of sunsets
with those sweet, few others
who understood this
with you…

What you don’t know is
that I don’t know either.
What makes you stay inside on sunny days
has pestered me as well my whole life.
Shadows of things that would never happen
grew ominous, loomed over my cowering heart
so being a defensive, obsessive ruminator
my hope to make the leaves in my yard
stand still against gusts of wind –
become a psychotherapist
a posturing senex
trailing his wounded child behind
all made OK
with a license to insult you
pretending I know something
you don’t.

Will global warming disappear (?)
just because I know thousands of facts
about worms after rain
about how so many weeds pop up
in freshly-rained soil
underneath even dominating magnolias
and you pay me
to wizen you.
You stare like a mesmerized gazelle
counting the lions
a whole dozen of them
drawing a circle around your life in tall grass.

I want to tell you
run from the need for a resting place
from the pointless mobius strip
of therapy’s semantic banter.
I wish you would tell me
to just be quiet for once
invite me to hike a trail
protected by angels
with just so much sun
enough rain to nurture
and the lions yes
the lions like Fu Dogs
guard the entry to the hills.

I always forget
it isn’t my frustrated reverie
my angst about knowing
how important it is
not to need to know anything
this constant inability
not to daydream
that brought you here
to a leather throne
with an Olympus digital recorder
so you can capture every
single
word.

RINZAI BOX

Had to have a psych eval
at the box factory
a human resources workup
to make sure
I could handle work again
making cardboard condos
for little mammal prisoners
of the pet trade
who live on hot windowsills
until someone comes to love them.

I got too depressed once
when I found tiny bunnies
mewling in a dumpster
their only refuge
yes
a box I had made
you could tell
it said assembled with care
by Kevin
and I missed a month of work
and got written up
for just being sad.

The shrink diagnosed me
a cognitive distorter
a predictor of worst case scenarios
but I disagreed
since I saw the sad bunnies for real
and he puffed up like a blowfish
stammering you’re the patient
I’m the man.

Well I’ve been around the zendo
so I challenged him
smartypants answer this…….
Do bunnies in boxes
have Buddha nature?

Irrational and pointless he said
hmmmmm I said
how do you know
maybe you’re a narcissist
on a psychobabble fugue
echoing in a therapy box.

But I have Buddha nature
and I put that in the boxes I make
and the Buddha bunnies go in the boxes
and you here in your Buddha office
are not separate
just uniquely boxed  
and the label on the bunnies' box says
assembled with care by Buddha.