BUDDHA

I write and I think of you. I play the guitar and I think of you. I hit the weights and I think of you. I sit in the sauna and I think of you. I study my Portuguese and I think of you. I imagine myself in Argentina and I think of you. I drink a beer at the bar and I think of you. I take a shower and I think of you. I look at my aging face and I think of you. I watch my son play football and I think of you. I hit tennis balls and I think of you. I smoke a joint with my compadre and I think of you. I go for an evening walk and I think of you. I lie in bed at night and I think of you. And when I am dead, I will be thinking of you.

I awake painfully. You are on my mind. Inevitably, I will have no mind. Aye, to sleep so peacefully.

You sentenced me to insanity, but you set me free creativity.

You thought you were going to be an untouched virgin until I discovered your oasis between Jerusalem and Nazareth brimming with vaginal waters. I gave birth to your wild side, which isn't much more than yielding to the ecstatic thrill of sex. Even before I fondle you, your innards drip with anticipation. It excites me when you lose your mind, inebriated by a concatenation of sensations. Entering your viscous vulva with my hard twitching appendage never gets old. Feeling it plunging deeper and deeper into your dark depths gives me a boner. more accurate than a diving rod. I'm a snake slithering into your damp hole. And then there's that explosion of sperm that floods your cavernous cavity. Afterwards, I eat your pulsating pudenda and then we share a sperm-filled kiss with your tongue hissing inside my mouth. You filthy, fabulous nympho. I thank God he brought you into my life.

Can a woman call herself a mother when she's cheated with reckless regularity? Can a woman call herself a mother when she's destroyed family after family? Can a woman called herself a mother when she's turned her children against daddy? Can a woman convince herself she's innocent when as a mother she's been so indecent?

Death is terrible. Death is a tragedy. But death has a dignity. We should extend our gratitude to death. Because without death life has no meaning. Without death there is no love. Without death there is no beauty. Without death we don't even have families as we would move from one relationship to another in an everlasting manner. There would be no memories. Death is both our mother and father. From nothingness we emerge and from nothingness we return. When the priest or the preacher says we are going to a better place, it's because we came from a better place. Without death there would be no consciousness. We would reside in an eternal void. Why are moments so precious? Because they are brief in their beginning and in their ending. Life without death would reduce our existences to absolute meaninglessness. Imagine a game. Take your pick from the scores we play. We'll settle on baseball. What would happen in there wasn't a result after nine innings? What would happen if ...