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.
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