The Book of Equanimity Verses
One giant silverfish
eats through the ancestral library.
His royal highness turns
pages in his sleep—
translucent pages
sparking with dust motes.
But in the end he fails to find
a single word.
Another king requests
an uplifting sermon
only to receive
a blast of arctic wind.
As it’s getting late
I should go to bed.
Please turn off the lights
when you leave the treasure house.
The willows tell you everything
when their branches move
in the breeze.
But hurrying from place to place
with a small octopus
in each coat pocket
you want the answers written down
in blood as well as ink.
When the Castle of Desire
finally crumbles
a forgotten road
takes you into the mountains.
Don’t bother to look back
as you begin to ascend:
the tea houses are vacant
the border post deserted.
The blue hulled tugboat
adds its blue
to the waves.
How difficult it is
to release one’s grip.
Tourniquet, bandages,
bed pans – all receding
in the receding tide.
He doffed his hat
to the lofty poplar.
(Not knowing
is most intimate.)
The poplar nodded back.
And with that
the afternoon faded
into evening.
Poison gets rid of poison.
If you ask me how I’m going
I’ll tell you:
“Just slithering along.”
Down the mountain path
the autumn leaves
flash their scales
of gold and amber and bronze.
When the ice melted
the body fell to the floor.
He looked so good
suspended in that block
of coldness.
What a shame
his faithful servant
left open the freezer door.
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