So you went to India to find God
or a Guru who spoke on your behalf
and you left your Armani suit behind
in the closet of another's dream
sleeping
on the street where you had just passed by,
You're just another fucking spoiled common
garden-type
Westerner, you wouldn't know God
if she came to you in the form of
every man.
I hear you want to improve your golf game,
or lose that extra weight, I'm sure enough
you will find
someone who'll be glad to sell you that
all-in-one recyclable cure
easily 'enough'. And sometimes they'll even
give it away for free. After all, you're enlightened
now and now you have nothing else to do
but to practice your perfection while
the world 'out there' hungers for a few crumbs
falling
from your designer breads.
Comments
How,
How true, and this poem gives it right between the eyes. Or legs for that matter, sorry just came to mind. I can feel the passion flow through this poem, no crits just admiration and a little jealousy. lol. Love Roscoe..