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Poetry Magnum Opus

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Flies

 

Fly is Buddha

not his nature

or a eightfold

Refracted symbol

to be dropped

and discarded but

 

THE LORD HIMSELF

just like the silly language

plagued primates

 

Fly dressed in neon

effervescent splendour

does not worry his robes

will be spoiled by shit or

The Reapers rotten leavings

nor does he worry if he is

divine enough worthy

of a brief life unlike

 

Siddhartha’s disagreeable

diagnosis of existential disorder

his privileged fear of death Flies

Cry Holy Holy Holy transubstantiate

through the mesh of a well

designed swatter or submit

willingly to a lazy languid

pillowed and ballooned hand

 

With a nobel death sigh

a hardly registered

exoskeleton crack

 

If only the Sapien Bodhisattvas

had such clarity into the lineage

of  Infinite Succession

a buzz on my window

screen again.

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Lots of depth here, Juris. The fly does not worry. There are well designed swatters, yet flies, in the aggregate, endure. Reminds me of the passage(s), "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them."

Tony

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