never was always will be
mind before mind
earth water fire wind
sleep there tonight
you you on fire
burning yourself
attached
to this burning house
search
all the way back
to the womb
can’t remember a thing
good bad
ideas
self self
which
winter’s wonderful
bonfire’s
ridiculous
in summer
summer breezes
irritate
even before autumn’s
over
rich now
you hate the poor
and forget when you
had nothing
you saved every dollar
a fiend
watched by the famished
wraiths of your self
your whole life
making money
could not pay off
death
clinging wanting
nothing on my mind
that’s why I can say
it’s all mine
you want someone you love
now
only because
you never knew her
you can’t forget
not to remember
someone you never forgot
who?
looking back
you see it one brief evening
realize see
everything’s a lie
bitter? does this
incredible world of grief
hurt? why wound yourself
brooding on dreams?
no hands no eyes
nothing exists
touch see
that’s it
all this
in unreal
instead of clutching your head
go and sing
your mind
yours
torments you
because you need it
hating hell
loving heaven
torture yourself
in this joyous world
the hating mind
itself is not bad
not not hating
what’s bad
good bad
crumple into a ball
of trash
for the gutter
ideas about
what you should do
never existed
I I I
finished
with Buddhism
nothing’s new
enlightenment really?
“mine”
keep wrestling with yourself
idiot
these days enlightenment
means nothing to me
so I wake up
feeling fine
tired of praying
for salvation look
at those poor beautiful flowers
withering
saunter
along the river
breathe
in out
die live
day and night here
listen the world’s
your hand
Buddhas
are pitiful
all dressed up dazzled
by brocade robes
enemies
come from your mind
right wrong right wrong
never were
call it this that
it doesn’t exist
except this page
except these wavering phrases
praised abused
like a block of wood straight through
my head’s the universe
can’t hide my ugliness my clumsiness
so I just go along
with what is
without anger
without happiness
nothing to see nothing to know
before after now
call and you’ll hear
its heartbreaking silence
[from Stephen Berg's The Steel Cricket: Versions 1958-1997]
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