tear on the buddhas

you know it’s hell when the buddhist aren’t happy, its an oh so sour saha world

saha world, a place of suffering with sanguine enthusiasm, cheek seams torn

from smiling at all the misfortune borne in a buddha beer belly drunk with sake,

the stiff clear smooth stuff, the rice gutted from brown husks,

all the palaver mushed together with a four finger pat, pressed against a palm flat

like rice ready for dead moist fish, fresh but

smelling like silver, tasting like gold

when buddhas cry, doves shed their feathers, flesh and charm

peace settles on vultures, calm from laughing a lot.

mouths full and choking on naked pigeons

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