Thrift store buddha smiles.
Thrift store buddha traveled ten thousand miles.
Thrift store buddha wants his home back.
Thrift store buddha has eyelids that are jet black.
Thrift store buddha’s cheap.
Thrift store buddha knows there’s nothing we can keep.
Thrift store buddha had a father and a mother.
Thrift store buddha wouldn’t be any other.
Thrift store buddha heard a funny thing.
Thrift store buddha can’t see your diamond ring.
Thrift store buddha’s a bodhisattva.
Thrift store buddha wants you to reach Nirvana.
Thrift store buddha was discarded.
Thrift store buddha sees you don’t know what art is.
Thrift store buddha thinks that shirt is shit.
Thrift store buddha thinks he matches your aesthetic.
Thrift store buddha speaks to you, doesn’t he?
Thrift store buddha knows you really can’t just let it be.
Thrift store buddha feasts on your desire.
Thrift store buddha knows you’re in a real quagmire.
Thrift store buddha doesn’t want your pity.
Thrift store buddha feels his home’s rhythmicity.
Thrift store buddha begets a revision.
Thrift store buddha laughs at your indecision.
Thrift store buddha sees infinity.
Thrift store buddha has a legacy.
(Thrift store buddha sees the irony.)
Thrift store buddha isn’t scared;
he's a long way from home, but he doesn’t care.
and he knows someday he’ll just be a Buddha,
living in nothingness, land of no flaws,
but today he’s listening to a lowkey crackup,
just trying to last until this old store’s closeup,
across from the plates and seventies teacups,
and a piano in desperate need of a tuneup;
he doesn’t know how he got into this setup,
but it’s been a long time and each day at sun-up
he finds that his mind’s just a jumbled old shake-up
and everything’s new but nothing has changed up
it’s all just the same in this twisted old stack-up,
just sitting here next to this porcelain egg cup
he turns at the whims of the customer’s pickup;
he looks in their eyes and he thinks, that’s no grownup
and he sees all their foibles and petty small fuck-ups
and he says if he could he would stand up and walk out,
and bypass the checkout
and leave all this shit doubt,
and escape the hideouts and dropouts and girl scouts and lockouts and cop-outs and buyouts and call-outs and stakeouts,
but -
Thrift store buddha isn’t scared:
He’s a long way from home but he doesn’t care.
Thrift store buddha has a legacy.
Thrift store buddha sees infinity.
Scratches eyes: some… sort… of…
boundless trinity, sanguine divinity, mental virginity no -
there is no defilement,
no endless descent;
nothing like purity;
no kind of security;
nothing taken, nothing given. Just -
Thrift store buddha on an old wooden shelf.