**** caked eyes scraped open
New, tasting fresh breeze of
Some amateur mahayana meditation
I scan the room
There is a painting of a moon with
A clock's face
And a wounded bull of spain
Running through a prairie
Running home
The oil paint bursts in brilliant
Cold blues
I think,
What is this?
What is this?
Then there is a cockroach running
Wildly
Across the linoleum
I smash its head like
Bluebird egg
It's legs are kicking and it
Rotates in a small circle
Around a mess of eyes, mouth,
Antennae
The suffering in this world is
Tremendous
I finish it off
And feel instant disgust
In myself
And all of you.