In Love With Space

A new mercado opened in Tepoztlan,

a four story building in the heart of town.

Surprisingly well constructed, with unmatched

vistas of the mountains and the valley.

It replaces the market that’s been there forever,

with it’s ramshackle stalls, crowded together,

plastic sheets protecting from the rain not well.

It’s the first big change to the town since I’ve

been here, twenty years. Open, airy and breezy,

feeling out of doors, earthquake reinforced, the

right answer to a chronic question.

No bad vibes of McMansions, strip malls,

condos on top of one another. It’s happy

industrial magic, if that is even a thing,

compatible with the magic that abides here.

As an ex plumber, I admire the quality of

workmanship with a bit of astonishment.

There are capable people in Mexico, but

sometimes they’re hard to find.

A gringo saying about Mexico is:

“Mexico: the country that almost works.”

In this case, it does.

Sometimes poems are about ordinary things.

Poets always go where the magic is.

Man As Machine

I wrote a senior college thesis paper

on “Man As Machine In 20th Century

Literature.” People don’t write much 

anymore, here in the 21st Century, only

a few words written on a magic screen.

Mainly, it’s social media, a frenzy of

quick impressions working directly into

the mind….Danger Zone!!….so, we are 

merging with these machines, surreptitiously,

behind the scene becoming more like them,

so we begin to forget who we are, which is

textbook brainwash. Orwell didn’t write 

much about the technology of control, the

means, just the method. And now, Homosap

is controlled by machines. He thought he 

had escaped from Dr. Caligari, but, he only 

found himself in another cage.

 Now, my paper is up to date.

Rainy Season Tepoztlan 2024

A good one…solid rain from mid June

through August…more to come.

Clouds decorate the mountains, people

looking moisturized. Streets as clean as 

they can ever be. No rubble, no protestors,

no riots. I was smart to leave the USA.

Even if Trump is elected, by the time he gets

the USA back in shape, I’ll be dead. I never

trusted a plan I couldn’t see. Americans, many

venal, many dumb…they do have a Musk no

others do. Let’s see if he degenerates into a

Savior. After all, he may be a genius, the richest 

man in the world, but he has no mind training,

and his mind is numbed with God. One thing is 

sure: I’m a better poet than he’ll ever be, and

I’m not that good. Poets are a dying breed from 

a time when language was used to communicate,

not indoctrinate, which both sides always do.

The pendulum is swinging towards the Dark Age.

Not every prophet, for millennia, can be wrong.

More was known about the mind 2500 years ago

than is today. People still train their minds, but

few go that way. “The reason why there are no

revolutionaries in America, is that it would be like

being a spoilsport at an orgy.” Richard Dreyfus 1971.

Revolutionaries are in charge of the orgy now…the

lunatics have taken over the Asylum. There would 

have to be a Mao sized extermination to get rid of 

them, but the good guys are too nice. If they did that,

no doubt they’d become evil too, and the slaughter

would never stop...what to do? It’s only business,

after all, and, as we know, the dharmas of samsara 

are futile. Over seven billion people in the world,

but not for long. Mother Nature doesn’t listen to the

homosap, and there’s going to be hell to pay.

I’ll die in poverty while you continue to dot the “i”s

and cross the “t”s. It will make no difference if you 

go to Mars, as you will see. It’s just more hopium to 

buttress against futility. Your vision is because you’re 

still young. Wait until you’re old, like me. Are you a

Renaissance Man or a freak of nature? Time will tell,

we all will see.

Yes, rainy season, where I am. I write easily because

I’m in a magic land, in a world of diminishing returns,

caused  by man.

I Am Zero (with commentary)

A Buddhist is the zero

between God and dog.

People get confused

whether there is a God

or just a dog. They get

confused if they are a God

or just a dog.

I’ve eliminated the extremes 

to the point of zero, which, as

a Buddhist, is where I belong.

If people ask me: “Who are you?”

I form a zero with my lips and

am silent.

Few seem satisfied with this answer,

but, for once, I’ve given them a gift

that keeps on giving.

Commentary:

On the Norm Macdonald show,

he and his sidekick, Adam Eget,

had a little shtick they’d do, a joke

played on their guests. Adam, 

the foil of the two, designatedly

would ask the guest: “ My question

to you is: where do you get your ideas?”

The guest, at first flummoxed and chagrined,

would be silent, (the correct answer they 

never seem to get). After  that, as comedians,

they come up with something, but most don’t 

seem to like the trick. Is that why it’s difficult

for Buddhists to be comedians? Because, really,

that’s their only joke?

Trapped In Paradise

Is that an oxymoron?

If I told you why I was trapped,

I’d have to kill you.

It’s not a bad thing or a bad idea.

Where I am is Shangri-lha, about 30%,

more than I’ve seen elsewhere.

A wiseguy like me is just a bright flower

on the side of the road, that distracts drivers

and causes accidents. I don’t mean to, but,

there you have it.

Language has been the cause of many things

good and bad. Wallace Stevens said that poetry 

is a destructive force: it destroys misconceptions 

about perception. It shines a light into our shared 

experiences. A little should appear on all social

media platforms to aerate the bullshit, to distract

the rabble from their rabid reactions, if only for 

a moment. Getting a little bit of something good

is better than getting nothing at all. And, getting 

nothing at all is better than getting something bad.

For example, smart Mexicans speak English.

It’s a good filter to know who to relate to.

Fuck It

 Contemplating suicide….

the pros and the cons. 

Money is the issue…if I run out,

there’s no way I can survive…it’s

still an iffy issue…it’s too early to 

pull a trigger. I never was interested

in money…never good at making it.

When I had it, I took it for granted.

Now the end game is afoot.

I gave my life away already to all

sentient beings…

I helped all those I could the best I can.

If no one helps me now, that’s their business…

everyone does what they do..

I don’t blame them, I did too.

As a Buddhist, suicide is a bad thing, very bad.

I’m not afraid of dying…

I’m deathly afraid of karma.

Sitting on the edge of that question 

is very powerful.

There will be no more poems.

I don’t imagine that matters much.

I’m rambling because of uncertainty,

not freaked out, but with a cautious 

apprehension. This is not a note I leave 

beside my body. I’m just thinking out loud.

Ironically, I feel better than I have 

my whole life. I’d hate to throw that away

because of some stupid move.

I could have died so many times already.

Why I’m still alive is something of a miracle,

a blessing, an opportunity to contemplate my fate.

“Even Jesus wanted a little more time.”

Trying to help was my only inspiration.

I did radical theatre, social satire, a mirror

for society’s mind. I realized whatever effect

it had wore off quickly.

I helped my Buddhist teacher bring Buddhism 

to the West. I’m most happy about that. Of course,

it didn’t make me as rich as the Pope, the opposite.

If anything, that’s why I find myself here.

Still, I wouldn’t have had it any other way,

which seems suicidal now.

Fuck me if I can’t take a joke.

I have no idea my poetry has done

a whit of good…some people said

they liked them…so what? Poetry

and music have always inspired 

people…only Dylan and his ilk

have been worth a hoot, became

rich. There have been plenty of prophets

over millennia. Few ever listened to them.

No, if you really want to change the world,

it takes power and money to conquer the world:

Prince Ashoka, Genghis Khan, even Elon Musk

and Trump. Hitler made a splash, but he had the

wrong idea. Money and power corrupt, but they’re 

the only way to get things done. That’s the quandary.

Berryman jumped off a bridge. (I wonder what he

was thinking just then.) My dear friend, Thomas,

master artist, burned himself up in his trailer after

twenty years of intense suffering. His reason was

better than mine. My grandfather begged me to

kill him. I didn’t, but now wonder if I was kind.

I’m willing to go…too many people anyway 

on the earth. Bill Gates wants to help, but in

an evil way. Elon wants to colonize Mars; to me,

like pouring water from one glass to another.

There’s a question if his marvelous inventions

will help anything at all, or are they all just

brilliant hopium? Only the enlightened know 

what to do, and they’re in short supply.

What if you found, at the seashore, a message

in a bottle that read: “Look behind you.” ?

What would you think?

Would you understand?

Would it be a revelation?

Would you keep the bottle

and throw the note away?

Did that note save Donald’s life?

People tend not to see the treasures

in front of them, too busy to notice

anything besides their comfortable lives.

As a child, I already knew there was 

something more than that. So, I gave 

my life away because it seemed the right

thing to do. 

I have no regrets or doubt of that.

All that’s left is how to close this out

without leaving a mess behind. I’m

in this moment to ask that question.

It’s the same question I had as a child:

“What is this life thing anyway?”

My only answer is: look behind you.

Handel and Leadbelly wrote music

that got them out of prisons.

I doubt that that will be my fate.

Back To The Drawing Board

Social media isn’t for me.

Oh yes, I’m addicted to it already,

and I’m already suppressed by the

algorithm. 

It’s a tar baby of attraction.

I can see days go by when

I forget about everything else.

I may have to delete X from

my computer.

Elon is special.

He’s already on his way to becoming

a long lived God, (one of the six realms).

I’ve never met one, but supposedly, they

live for millennia, longer than Methuselah.

Supposedly, just before they die, (for none

of the realms are eternal), their flower

garlands start to wilt, and they start smelling

their body odor. When they die, they’re 

immediately reborn into hell. 

Karma, ne?

Xpoem #1

Sifting through the debris of social media…

leaving my entrails as a trail.

How can I fly to Mars in three lines?

Poetry Is An Anachronism

 Poetry was from a time 

when people had literary minds.

Writing was one of the few forms of 

entertainment, as well as education.

Now, with social media, it’s all entertainment,

dispensed in tiny bites to fit the manic

attention spans. No one is learning much

anymore…. too busy consuming 

information pollution to satisfy appetites

for bullshit. 

So, as I write here less, I write on X more.

More people see and read me there.

It’s a natural progression,

and I love telegraphing snarky comments.

So, I’m going away, but not disappearing.

Just a fade, a dissolve, into a different scene.

When you live among the Lotus Eaters, 

you can’t choose the menu. But, this way,

I can complain about the service:

“ Hey, waiter! There’s an “I” in my soup!”

Social Media #2

“If I seem to act unkind, it’s only me,

it’s not my mind that is confusing things.”

John Lennon

Social media is questionable usefulness.

If you’re not already convinced of the truth,

it gives plenty of reasons to doubt yourself.

If you have emotions, it’s a tar baby.

Would you have coffee with Elon Musk if he

asked you? Why would he want to?

How could you be sure it was him?

Maybe he wants to know normal people.

That’s a good reason.

Maybe he wants you to invest.

That’s a reason.

The problem seems to be the world suffers

now from an overactive imagination.

If Mr. Musk showed up outside my coffee

house, or sent a representative to talk to me,

that would be proof of life.

Otherwise, it’s just a temporary mirage.

There are plenty of those on the internet

to chose from.

I can wait for the truth forever.

I’ve got time.

Gaming

“A man could make a modest living

playing the marble game.”

from the play “The Time Of Your Life.”

Pachinko, maybe…not roulette…I’ve

got more balls than that.

It’s a game of chance, if you look at it 

that way…karma if that’s how you see it.

“Many times for brief moments” is the 

most profound instruction.

Losing is not a problem if you know

the game is rigged.

In that case, you just make the game bigger

until the marbles fall through space.

X

Started on X the past few days

realizing why I stayed off of 

social media since it began.

So far no one has said anything 

about my ranting. Tentatively 

good. Takes up a lot of my too

much time…old and in the way

and all…not complaining…if 

you’re lucky, you’ll get here too.

Other than that, it’s just

a tool I’ll use more if 

it continues to be useful.

I am an ape and all.

Esmeralda

 Beautiful young petite Mexican

senorita all tatted up with the sweetest

genuine smile. I’m in love again.

Too late for this lifetime doesn’t matter.

“Old rats like cheese too.” 

South Carolina plumber.

“Just because the director says ‘Action!’

doesn’t mean you have to do anything.”

Marlon Brando to Al Pacino

Good Morning!

 Where I live in Mexico people

say hello in the morning.

They don’t in Kyoto, Chicago,

New York or Boston. Being an 

American means never having to

say hello….too busy…crust of

isolation, illusion of separateness 

and individuality, full of themselves 

with little room for others, no sense 

that we’re all in this together, which

we are. “I’m me and you’re not” is

the battle cry, though there’s nothing

much to defend. Being the best at

trivial pursuits, but losing the game

of life.

Saying hello is meaningful. It says 

you acknowledge you’re not the 

only one there. 

If not, if everyone’s center stage,

there is no audience to see the play

in which the truth is revealed. 

Life becomes a clown show with

everyone just fooling around in

goofiness. 

It’s a mad mad mad mad world.

Quantum Story

Late night city street sidewalk 

street lamps red and white car

lights sizzle of tires through the

recent rain.

It could have happened.

I wasn’t cold. I lit a cigarette 

under lamp light watched the

smoke drift upwards and fade.

Not much movement on the

cityscape. Most of the lives 

buttoned up for the night. I

wasn’t going to come up 

with something new where

I was standing. I had to go.

Weather Report

Sagittarius moon afternoon rainy season

rain shower splash of downburst windows

just a slit open even so rain sprays ticklishly

with the wind over me lying in bed mind 

cloud wisps flurry along dissipatingly with 

the wind I imagine it’s the weather of Shambhala.

Fog Of Life

Mountains hidden in clouds,

obscured by fog, just like

the fog of mind that obscures

what’s in front of you.

When the fog lifts, 

the mountains are undeniable.

When the mind clears one sees

the formations called reality.

Awareness, the breeze of delight,

dissipates temporary obscurations.

All the Buddhas say the same thing

again and again.

It’s simple: just follow nature.

A tree never says: “ Hey! I’m a tree!”

A tree has no ambition to become a table.

Why do we insist we are any different?

We are part of nature.

It’s not nature’s fault we don’t act naturally.

Chain Smoking

Scorpio rising outside the

coffee shop. Doing my due 

diligence, token Buddhist 

in Tepoztlan. Usually nothing

happens except occasionally a

brief, friendly word or two.

Not inspired to write, but it’s 

what I do. The coffee is good

today…they always make it 

differently….that’s the 

Mexican way.

I gave my life away always,

even before I knew I was a

Buddhist. It seemed the thing 

to do.

You’ll forget what you just read

as soon as you’re finished, if you

even get to the end.

These days I feel unburdened,

(thank you Kamala),

by all the things I gave away.

My cigarettes especially remind

me of impermanence.

I have to give praise to all the

Vajra Masters who spread the 

dharma throughout the world,

now available to everyone,

first time in history.

Arnold Toynbee said the most 

important event/trend of the 20th

Century was the coming of 

Buddhism to the West.

That’s what happens when 

you have good coffee…still,

nothing happens.

If you have nothing,

you have nothing to loose.

Even then, the non-existent

beat goes on, and my seat on 

the street 

is a portal to another realm.

Little Births

Poco Cumpleanos

mostly dying, but sometimes

finding myself suddenly born again

a cameo of myself in my movie I recognize

like a movie star, which I was 

in my own movie in memories of great scenes,

like when my mother overturned the Xmas dinner 

table, completely set, in a fit of rage when her brother,

my uncle, showed up unexpectedly. 

That took three lines of memory from my mind. 

It was as if happened yesterday.

But that’s not what this poem is about.

I’d better start again, 

or is that another birth?

That’s what keeps happening, 

even as I age: always finding myself

again, back at square one.

Reason enough to keep living.

***************

Afterbirth

Yeah, like, when you’re born?

And everything that comes after

that is afterbirth, until death, and

it’s as messy as it sounds.

Full Of Themselves

This is the big problem with

social media influencers 

Communist politicians 

main stream pundits and experts…

the list goes on.

They trip over themselves trying to

pass off partial truths with loud voices.

I can hardly hear myself think anymore.

I have to look at trees to get back in my body.

The marching morons making something 

out of nothing once again raise their strident

historical voices, brandishing self righteous 

ignorance as before, the new barbarians, the

darkening of the light,

eschewing basic decency, common sense,

what’s seen when looking clearly.

It’s all I can write about because it’s all I

can see when I look at the sad world we’re 

on right now: the rise of the Kali Yuga.

The only question I have is; will it change

after November, or, will it last a

thousand years?

This is a piece I wrote in November, 2011,

just before the whole thing started.

The Purge Of Evil

For everything there is a season.

This is the time of hell on earth.

This is the time of the flowering of evil.

The Lords of Materialism have seized power.

It is their time.

The karma they create from their evil deeds 

Will rid the earth of them for a long time.

They will not be reborn as human.

It is the time of the purge of evil.

Remain human!

Don’t get sucked into their trip!

This has to happen now! 

Predicted by all religions!

Remain human! Remain human!

Don’t take part in their bloody game!

What goes around comes around!

Cultivate compassion!

Their leaders are lost in lust!

Their self destruction is inevitable!

****************************

I publish it over and over….