“The Question”

What happened to this rare bird, this
Gray stork of a man, skinny in his loose clothes?
He is afraid to eat, to see blood flow into his face
He will tell you how he feels thinks opinionates without looking up
Your face is of no interest, it might tell him something before
He realizes what is happening.
He walks downcast, his nose an arrow pointing
To the Depression Era, or
To the unavoidable depression under the floor that will take him in
Out of his parents’ basement
Out of this place
Out of the meaningless job
And away from the unloving god that hits and hits.
This brittle whitehaired stick of a man may have once been a reed
That flexed to the ground in a high wind,
But now even the hint of a breeze gives no comfort
But creates the clear danger of breakage
His neck is small and the axeman is experienced…
Where is the buddha nature even in one such as this?

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