enlightenment is a bitch

MOON GOAL
 

At first

it isn’t so bad —

a taste of ecstasy, the world

covered in honey. Even snails scrawl

the names of buddhas with

their silvery

trails.

 

But then,

too much. Pears become

unbearable, wet white flesh so tender

one could perish contemplating

the first taste.

 

Meditation

becomes oddly redundant,

attention now like water, absorbed in tree root, 

plumbing; even fire hydrants with their red 

stubby arms become mandalas, and,

worse, the police siren revving its

wail behind my slow-moving

car sounds like a

mantra.

 

Even my

wife’s complaints about me

finally sound true. I just bow.

Kiss her slender hands.

Carry the garbage

outside, but,

damn! The

moon!

 

Dane Cervine

 

Leave a Reply