We'll have an evening of pitiful grapes,
To squash away and
pour sour wine into our guts.
You need guts in this world,
You need those leaking
Fruit.
You need ****,
you need death
you need tears from the
scarred cheek of
India.
You need strangest eyes grasping your
every life,
You need these hurting
mundane nothings.
You need nothings for everything to be
what it is.
You need to leap back
and be free from
the green clouds
and sweep your hair
down into your face and
see the stained
grey vision
before you meet
the Buddha.
I hope he has enough
for you