if a Buddhist made a dildo
out of contradictions,
would we simply have to have one?
What pleasure could we derive
from an object made with
singular unending intent?
Show us the scratch pad
that counts only black sheep,
that made us all
tally worn beings.
We are all pigs
eating our debasement
towards oneness.
And in that pile,
defiled by that pile,
there is only oneness of spirit
on the rise.
We are the avalanche ascending
disguised as thundering cascade.
We are a combust
of weathering’s expression.
We appear
as a union of consequence
yet higher alignment prevails.
Integrities only apply
as if chaos were ordered.
We are, in all ways,
still leading towards the one . . .
And you, continue to think,
that, “nothing matters”?
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