... anger ..., ... country ..., ... death ..., ... experimental ..., ... heartsick ..., ... home ..., ... humor ..., ... life ..., ... pain ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... sins ..., ... the South ..., ... time ...

Jesus, I’m No Buddhist

there is a kind sadness
in the soliloquies of us;
every man, woman
will die alone. will eat alone.
dreams alone.

no one is ever really let inside.
that’s impossible.

i watched a brown bird balance
recklessly on the end of a branch
and pondered his death, his life,
and felt akin in the loneliness of it all.

Jesus, I’m no Buddhist but clearly
we are all connected in life,
completely alone in death.

cheers.

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