Time has lost track of me.
Daytime, night time, no difference.
Go to bed imbibing the right drugs.
Still no sign of sleep.
Finally at 3 AM I say **** it.
Get up, smoke a cigarette,
get out the cushions.
Twenty minutes of ZaZen.
I sit, I breathe, I wait.
The meditation concludes.
My knees and hips hurt.
Another cigarette, write this poem
and back to bed. Will I ever sleep again?
No way to know, no way to know anything.
I am a poor Monk lost in time.
The monkeys chatter, I am getting old.
I love a woman who frightens me.
My body deteriorates year by year.
My friends age, sicken, die.
Should I worry or just let it go?
Am I a fool or have I followed my Karma's path?
No way to know. Know way to know anything.
I am going back to bed to try again.
Only one thing for certain:
There are no more days in my life.
Every day is just the same ******* day.
Nothing to do but hit the sheets and hope.
Hope that today will be better than today.
Hope to keep breathing. Nothing else exists.
Night thoughts of an insomniac Monk.
Silence and submission, signifying nothing.

  ~mce