Personal Narrative: Eccelsiastes 2.0...

A Thought-Poem on Society

What now, then?

That you’ve taken

the joy of sex,

and made it

a neurotic process—

to be cured,

alleviated,

or otherwise

anesthetized?  

What now,

that you’ve turned

Creation

into an act

of ex proprio,

so that even

the imagination

is a crime?  

What now,

With no God,

no heaven, no hell,

no life,

or after death;

when all the world

is maya,

does your navel

become

the Buddha breast?