came to town one burnt orange Thursday,
trailing occluded fronts and
isolated pockets of impassivity;
in his lonely footfalls strange lilacs bloom,
smelling of dusty Tee Vees and
fabric softener, their color dictated by
extensive market research.
*
With robes smooth and forehead creased,
he pitches Enlightenment—
now with up to twenty per cent
more Inner Peace
and a fresh pine scent—
to the girl standing still for pennies and
cheaper smiles; to the man
content with bagpipes and cigarettes; to
the bottle redhead under glass,
writing sestinas, spending her
lunch hour skinny-dipping
in the Oh Ee Dee.
*
The rudest Awakening:
He hears not the ting of knife on crystal,
but klaxons when he sees
that Buddhas abound with no one the wiser.
There is Rain, then, a bold new scent
from those who brought you Umbrella. And
the Buddha of Sofas and Blinders beams wetly,
suspended in silkthreads of awe.
(first appeared in Vallum 4.2/5.1)