suburban buddha, coffeehouse christ
Posted to Action Poetry
by markk on 2001-05-07 07:25:00
i canÂ’t be contained in this tiny body
not a body, but pure consciousness
on these streets in quiet houses buddha sits
buddha mows lawns, buddha rakes leaves
buddha drinks beer in calm yards, buddha cleans
buddha plays solitaire in the dark,
rising from pristine slumber i canÂ’t be contained
canÂ’t be held down here, canÂ’t be limited
to the miniscule things of this small place
suburban buddha waits holding fast
i canÂ’t be contained in this town, in this body,
this consciousness, slouching along lamplit streets
the windows of stores blank nobody nothing
i vanish into the sanctuary of a coffeehouse
where christ drinks freshbrew, packets of sugar
scattered on wooden tables, christ reads a magazine,
stares at baked offerings, smiling christ pervades beating hearts
standing in line waiting for a holy decaf & latte liturgy
i canÂ’t be contained in the walls of this place
coffeehouse christ sits calmly waiting
i sit down,
i walk home in the beautiful arms of day
(markk celebrates every day as a birthday madtolive@hotmail.com)
