Even in my seventh decade
enough remain:

impatience, ****, whiskey,
too many cigarettes,
lust (eternal and bright),
driving carelessly, laziness,
not being Buddhist enough,
preferring my own silence
to the chattering of humans
and others that come and go.

I once hoped to die pure,
but I know now these blemishes
will stick to me like true love
and follow me into the grave.

Such terminal devotion,
so rarely to be found
in this fickle world.

Friends to the end,
womb to tomb.