my basement, the universe.
i’ve been down here for decades.
i know the spiders by name
every tom dick john and charlotte
holes in the walls like
craters on the moon,
little homes for dusty things
i could talk to you, or the wall
whatever suits you, i’ve done both
stomach like a hole in the morning
sun shooting my memories in the face
animals gather round to view thier
captivity in HD quality picture,
people say we’re hopeless
but i dont think that.
i think we’re crazy,
crazy like a lamb.
“The boys was sittin in a grove of trees, listenin to Buddy explain the keys. Boys, sez he, the Dharma is a door… Let’s see… Boys, I say the keys, cause there’s lotsa keys, but only one door, one hive for the bees. So listen to me, and I’ll try to tell all, as I heard it long ago, in the Pure Land Hall. For you good boys, with wine-soaked teeth, that can’t understand these words on a heath, I’ll make it simpler, like a bottle of wine, and a good woodfire, under stars divine. Now listen to me, and when you have learned the Dharma of Buddhas of old and yearned, to sit down with the truth, under a lonesome tree, in Yuma Arizony, or anywhere you be, don’t thank me for telling, what was told me, this is the wheel I’m a-turnin, this is the reason I be: Mind is the Maker, for no reason at all, for all this creation, created to fall.”
From Dharma Bums