Emotionless Truth,
Emotional Truth
I tweak the Buddha’s nose. He doesn’t seem
To care because of meditation or
Of stone. The universe is merely dream
To him and marble. There isn’t pain for
Gautama. Curls like ice cream extruded
About his scalp have hardened. They aren’t real,
Of course. They’re rock shapes with peace included.
Perfection is a thing we cannot feel.
Though I can fondle perfect eyelid, brows,
And dot between them, actuality
They’re not. The Buddha taught us to espouse
Holy numbness to unreality.
His pursed smile lips and topknot on his head
Imply our phantom flesh has never bled.
December 27, 2014