he feels he has insects all over him their little needle steps
new revelations of the meridians waking
his electric flagellum sexmotor will not rest
each pinpoint of bodylight has a counterpart
the old rooftop is falling in fast
his pets die starved while he sleeps
he shuffles down to the river splashes his head like a Buddha
who got up in stinking rags and realised
it wasn't over yet that the past weeks
under the tree were just the beginning
that now he had to go home and face it all for real
leave all this behind this virtual practice
leave these sotted rags by the riverside
jump in finally, say it all at last
Hi my name is the Buddha and I am a non-swimmer
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