The Way

The way is to stay away, detach, “attachment is crap”, says Buddha,
He does, it says it, “attachment is crap”, in his book,
“Lead the way, me teeth’s gone, me legs are fucked”, said Buddha,
But me brains’re intact. In fact, activated to follow,
Slavishly, the way set. The way of words in books, and thought hooks,
“it weren’t me, it were ‘im it were, he’s a twat,” so sayeth the Buddha
The dictat signifier of a kinda inchoate heuristics thingy, and the effect
On the ontological what’s ‘is name? Is unpredictable, like logical positivism,
That pseudoscience stuff and other bollocks, just like that.
Just have a fucking fag, or a tab, choke your fucking self
Have another gallon of beer, gan on, yer kna yer want it.
The fucking twat he shat that fucking fat greasy bastard of a fucking in cress well, towers
Above a long way like a spinacle of glass, twinkling a bit, and shiny, like a car,
In a long stay car park, and a postcard lands lightly – the thought inside
It – the thought on it – the love in there, hidden, and there, and every
Where, follow that then – but follow. When you lose the me you lead,
You are very careless indeed,
Like being a child, kidnapped, now punished as the devil’s child
Beware, declares, the curse intercepted rebounds back to you?
No the one next to you. Never you.
You are you, you are mine and I am yours, we are we, we are there
We are here, our minds are there. Beaten for you there, see?
More than you, that’s fair
Even now, we are, even, okay?

Push me to the something there, not a whine or a whinge or a cry, something more than just fuck off and die, too easy, it’s what he wants? You, you really, really don’t see the power you have over the us of being them and one. See?
Q. E. fookin’ D.

Sometimes

Some incentive is needed to produce
Buy contact from, a magic number,
Called one.
It surprises one that no one, ever, is active, or
As clever, without
Knowing. Is manipulated, easy, no shame, or fear
But blame, yes blame there is, plenty of. And fear,
Yes fear there is, a lake of it, full of tears of pain shame,
That one lasts the longer, like a rebound mirrored forever,
Pinging away inside your brain, just when you think it’s gone
Ping, back it comes, like a dog with a ball,
Fear that is, pit of stomach panic fear and anxiety attack stuff,
A dead tree, swings and creaks, no leaves, not ready to snap,
But it will split like a melon chopped and spray splinters as it
Smashes a few things; besides time is a healer, money is a sticky plaster that
Helps the healing process along, loads of money is pain relief
But if you now know the what of how to do the stuff, in the book it is,
Just do it – I would.
So should you.