Grasping fear by the Long, thin edge, Peering down the dark tunnel To sight the obscure, Breath Tautens, Grows Sharp, Colors seem to shimmer At the edge of darkness Or the edge of light.
You're talking and I grow mute. One well-crafted sin And forever after I'm Reknowned for my footwork.
Daisies, lilies, opium poppies -- The unusual arrangement Adorns the room where Twisted melodies play.
Rockets chasing comets, chasing stars, The traffic in the heavens Getting heavy. Let's get down And take a look at Mars, Where voices still are drifting From the lungs of drunken spacemen Who frequent the martian bars.
Silly, I'm slapped silly, Like a clown who wears a frown And brings everybody down, Like a child who can't tell you Why it hurts, Like a man who's playing with the noose, And wondering Is it too loose?
Out here, running with the herd, Life and death, It's a daily thing. Beauty passes in a season -- The long-legged lovely one Becomes the encumbered mare, Hindered by love of young, Unable to run wild in the sunset.
Sex has its terrifying side; The steaming pain of birth, And the duty to care for some Repulsive hairless thing that Only cries and shits and speaks nothing. No wonder babies are killed though I'm not condoning that sort of thing, It's just your mother's voice That says it's cute, how lovely, Oh, it needs a change.
Out here with the herd It's a question of dominance, And who has the means to make it stick. Losers can cry, but "to him that hath," more is given, and to that Poor sucker that's got not, There's nothin' due -- You can take it to the bank.
If you're weak, throw in with someone strong; if you're stupid, Follow someone with brains; if you're A coward, serve someone brave. Then at least when night falls There'll be some campfire where You are welcome, some pot where You can stick your spoon.
I have lost all my friends. I am alone and friendless in the world. I bet you're delighted to meet someone in the same boat as yourself. This world is like a bubble popping. I can't believe in it for one second. Stand back! I think I'm going to disbelieve!
(Heavy metal anthem-style) He's a man Who gestures to heaven Standing straight and tall The fire rains down, Down from heaven, Turning earth into hell. He's a man Who rolls two sevens And makes a hash of the land He's got so many dollars And a five-sided building All right there in his hand. He's a man Mean as his father made him Proud as his mother is, A whole mess of psycho behavior In a Western suit He's a man And he'll send his men to Hell He's a man Did you hear the tales they tell Did you hear the tolling bell? Were those portents in the sky? Are you not afraid to die? The only unasked question: Why? He's a man We should try to understand He's got power in his hand He must rule the savage land.
Make ink from bloodstone, spurious one, Write long, lavish manuscripts upon the linen of your heart, Empowering yourself with mythic words, Requiring witness of your own two eyes, Seated in the garden of the sun, Among the trees of gold, Where jeweled birds twitter, And spirals of light wander lazily forth from the maze at the heart of the sun, Setting golden flakes upon the feathers and the trees, Flakes that balance delicately till they dissolve Into the very air.
Call your eyes to witness, then, The deed that has been done, Upon the linen parchment, Words of arterial brightness, Written in the garden of the sun.
Now I sit outside again, the Void lights twinkling, While the faithful worship inside, I'm thinking of the distances, the space Between the stars. With bowed head I cannot see the splendor of the Night, With lips so busy with prayer, I cannot listen to the chilly reminder of the darkness, the brisk night wind That whips along my cheek. No rebellion contra orthodoxy feeds my alienation, Only need for silence and meditation. May I onward endlessly pursue the unerring Trajectory of the True.
Homage to the Lama Stepping like a mountain goat along the rocky defile, Garbed in clouds and staring Into the naked face of Kuntuzangpo Until the single eye of the sun Inhabits the throne at the center of the Mind, One is one with all the teachers And reverences them with each thought and breath.
When the knife can penetrate the stone, When breath melts glacial ice, When the libertine’s love quenches the fire of hate Turning an execution to a celebration of wisdom, Then the proofs of the learned are confounded, The outrage of the nobles is silenced, And the king’s knee bends with every other.
Intrepidly declaring that which disturbs the pious, Shattering brittle icons with a mere notion, Spurning lucre and the company of the powerful, Buying resentment with pure intention, Such a guru needs no apologists Or lengthy homages, No coterie of sycophants to praise his lineage, No train of well-wishers and hangers-on.
At home anywhere, even among pimps and whores, Friendly with the despised, Despised by the powerful who are made irrelevant, Such a lama is worthy of Saraha’s mantle. Such a lama do I praise.