Under The Bodhi Tree or Why I Talk Of Sleep So Much

When perspective walks with atom bombs and

The politicians are talking through ether soaked rags and

Everyone's on soul dialysis...

 

When your brain is the image negative of a soup strainer and

The children play on dead logs for bikes and

Plastic is God...

 

When the next revenge is no longer currency and

Dem Black Man suspicion ain't the status quo and

I can read and write again...

 

When the shopping bags don't stir in the windswept gutters and

The carrion mobs divorce their televisions,

When Time is a function of

 

Slow vibrational Love

And

Silent syllables of

 

Om Mani Padme Hum and

Our Father who art in Heaven.

 

 

Or is it:

Our Father who art

Slow vibrational silence

And the

Syllables of Love

That go

Om Mani Padme Hum?

 

So everything is changing-

 

Am I in Heaven?

 

***

 

When all is said and done,

I'll sit beneath the

Bodhi tree and

Fall fast asleep

Forever.