If I wait to finish my 
chores,
to finish my food 
all the tiny 
notifiers to my superego,
my id 
would wither 
music, writing, commiserating, 
and commiserating 
eight-fold path that could 
fit in my pocket 

I can play 
Make children with songs
that have been inside me 
half a lifetime 
when I picked up an axe 
14 year old me
Shyer in most ways 
but bolder 
in interesting ways 
I walked the path 
humming 4 noble truths
in between theses 

erratic days
I lived a myriad of lives 
I fear it’s all 
swirling to be the same 
Circles within samsara 
used to last for 
months now I’m stuck for 
years 
and I no longer 
wish to become 
unconditioned