Fuck ideology and fuck your lack of faith.
Fuck your sacred texts and fuck commiserate suffering.
Fuck the gods' chariot whip and wheel.

The sun is down and out for another count-- fuck also that.
The moon, far more gray than blue-- fuck the moth-wing moon.
The world is glam most amorous, non-lyrical and low-key.

The buddha/ has left the building/ alone.
The world is a library; checking out, free.
With luck, you'll be able to keep your practices intact.

I envy you your prison, and your prisoner's blues.
There is music where there is no food.
The trees or the grass or the wall of ground-- bare.

Why am I guilty; what have I done and what have I not?
O, Death: my life, a succession of air.