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.