they got them all here the long-armed buddha
the bouncing buddha
the wrathful buddha who makes faces
the mirthful buddha frozen mid-laugh
all in amber plastic
up the track to the temple
where they are burning lucky money
fumes echoing around like feral cats
want to snug with you close up fuck you
in your lungs in the dharma racecourse
of your non-epicanthic tourist bad luck
so what if they demolished the walled city
built a park on top still buddhism is a street thing
a sort of violence against existence against presence
against life yellow ...........plastic buddhas stuck here
one for every state but they ain't .................got mine
i don't see anywhere the laughing crying
sexed up half drunk chainsmoking chainsaw
angry & happy & derailed punk rock razor love
of little birds but wants to kick you right in the ass
heartbroke beatpoem buddha lurking in the bushes
waiting to rush out like a wolverine myth
to hug you all to death he/she just ain't here
must be already gone
walked off into the flowers
& kept walking
never turned around
i only came here for the races anyway
all of them
races like waves
through the body dharma
the smoke races
nothing wins this game but the smoke
.
.
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