Take what you get,
the guru said, but never explained
how to take the swift rills of crazy
that roll though my head’s dark plain
after forty-five minutes
of lying awake
and trying to sleep.

It is what it is,
the guru said, but never demonstrated
how “is” or even “it” could be defined
when neither appears to be solid enough
to hold a shape for more than a second
as I’m trying to be OK with whatever
it is; if I can’t grasp it, is it anything?

Be here now,
the guru said, but never stated
how to get past the perpetual state
of feeling that wherever I am feels less now than replay
of yesterday, gummed up film on a bent reel,
a projection of burning film against a hot light;
I’m more moth on a dive bomb run than centered acolyte.

Sage advice put aside now, I shall take
two pills tonight to ease myself
into the skin of opossum familiar
and hang around upside down for a few moments
before playing dead.  Watch me, sensei,
master, as I find my own way.  This is how
I kill you on the path.  This is how I sit zazen.

They say there’s a revolution coming
and they say it’ll be bloodless and unseen
but it will happen as if the change that’s needed
will require nothing more than words spewed
in place of bullets and the swathe of knives
or a sudden hurricane change in the stenchwind
that roils over the land

I say there’s not a thing you can do
to make it happen with a word or a gesture
that won’t at some point also require a cutting
or a hole punched at high speed in a wall
or a chest

They say there’s a revolution coming
and they say it will be peaceful
but Gandhi himself couldn’t have changed
what needs to be changed
without a fire or a sudden decompression
that will leave some who have been in too deep
with the bends bubbling within

I say there’s not enough breath to spend
to change slavery to freedom
by just proclaiming it to be so
when so many want to keep it in place
and have the means to maze you into thinking
it has disappeared when it has not

They say a revolution is coming
and they tell that to the already convinced
but there’s not gonna be a revolution
if the only weapon you have is a patented speech
about who will see it and what it will be like
or a pronouncement on the lessons everyone needs to learn
when the schools are still nailing down the planks
on the same old soundproof boxes they’ve built for years

I say you have to fox the fox
and rat on the rat
I say you ought to stop listening to me
and everyone else who tells you what to do
and snake up the rafters of the house
and bite every hand empty or not
with a hiss and not a song
I say you oughta serve up a poison pill
with a vow of destitution as a side dish
and admit what you want
is not a revolution if you can’t stomach the sight
of thick blood pooling
in absolute silence
as you walk empty streets of palaces
and marvel at how the loud
and streaky scream of war
gave way to this

At a concert
I always just miss
the synchronized clap
all the rest of you seem to make
so well.
No matter how closely I follow
the music
I move on the offbeat,
lift the wrong foot
far enough out of time
to make it obvious
that I’m no good at this,
but I have a great time anyway

watching the lines of your hands
chained together in sheepish rhythm,
your feet shuffling perfunctorily
exactly as they’ve been shown, and

it’s even better when I spot a fellow traveler
who thinks he’s alone in the crowd,
who’s as messed up as I am and I try
to catch his eye;

we share a little
comfort then, knowing we’re hearing
the same tune that’s a proximate echo
of the party line
and getting a kick out of how clumsy
you all think we are.

Cross my toes,
as my fingers
are busy worrying.

Wear an old clover
in my ear, buried deep
to keep the voices out.

Stick a whole rabbit
in my pocket, let it squirm
until it’s smothered and I can replace it.

Count the angels who won’t look at me
and the devils who laugh at them,
forget the count and start again.

Stab a dagger into my thigh
and tell no one of the hurt.  If I can
take that, what matters of the anxious flutter

of my stomach as I wait, wait, and wait
some more?  A little dizziness from loss of blood,
a little magic, a little forethought about the cliffs

that allow a man to leap into the void
and do not care if he flies or dies; I’m there
and luck’s the only brake I’ve got on my heels.