autotelic, autistic, assonance-hole©.

Killing the buddha

Long ago, I met the buddha
on a distant field,
around a campfire,
songs and laughter by starlight

He asked what it meant,
to kill the buddha when you meet one;
I rambled something I do not recall,
He said, “Hmm… interesting.”

Suicidal buddha, he;
asked me, directly, to slay him
I could not breathe or think
except to shudder-sigh, “Never.”

Days and years now have passed
many things otherwise, too;
the precious buddha, gone beyond;
ashes upon earth, incensed moments

The buddha of my memory,
strangled slowly over time by my hand;
a reluctant homicide even as
it is a timely one, however late

Altars and impediments, razed,
stand I now in ruins of my making
sore for the weight of so many stones
bruised shoulders shaking with laughter

A happy murderess, it seems;
remorseless, strangely relieved,
only a fleeting, transient sadness
such eager worship, such foolishness

A breath, a stooping gesture,
a single flower upon the empty grave;
dandelion drooping, dropping seeds
come and gone, gone, gone beyond

There is no farewell to be given.