Paradox

By some foolish notion, I have arrived
At this point of wisdom.
By some mistake, I have reached
Perfection.
By sinning too many time,
I have become
A holy man.
Strange how our contradictions
Make us more credibly human
And how the paradoxes of our lives
Teach us to be simple, and patient.

The Fortune-Teller

Impetuous woman, you scatter your deck of
Bewitched cards before me, and ask me to choose one.
"This card," she says, "is your life hereafter."
It is blank, till she raises it to her lips,
And leaves the mark of her lipstick.
I take the card and put it in my pocket.
Later, I take it out
And see that the lipstick has smudged.
Now it resembles a work of modern art.
I find her again, in her shack in the woods,
And demand an explanation.
Instead, she scatters more cards
And has me pick again.
She says, "This is the card of what has been."
I look, and the card turns to dust.
I leave, my mind teeming with bewilderment.
I hear her humming, and I want to go back,
But something--maybe her magic--
Keeps me from doing so, and I continue down the path.

Advice for Would-Be Beggars

Here are several pieces of advice
If you want to beg for a living:
Practice your best pathetic face
In the mirror as much as possible,
And become a paralytic if you can.
For this, I recommend jumping off a cliff,
But not one too high,
Otherwise you might die.
Learn to subdue your voice
So that it never hints at a command
Or self-confidence.
Practice not looking people in the eye.
No one likes a beggar who is
Proud of his shame.
You must also learn the subtle art
Of exhibiting your pain
While deliberately displaying your attempt to mask it.
You must walk down many dirty lanes
While never changing clothes.
Never wash, for that might give you dignity.
And to maintain an air of mysticism,
Let your hair grow long.
With a bit of grit mixed with self-defeat
No would-be beggar could go wrong.

Abandon

In search of abandon, I walk these streets
As if blown by the wind.
Nothing I seek, but something seeking me.
A gust of wind finds the trees,
Stirring the branches, rustling the leaves,
Something that won't abandon me--
The fields, the hills, the clouds, the sky
Unified by my very own eyes.