I place my finger in the Ginko tree's wound
Where you practiced breaking a man's xiphoid process.
I wonder if the microfractures
took you to higher consciousness.
If we stood in opposition, and I crumpled in defeat and blood
Would you achieve the Buddha Mind?
Could I die and forgive you?
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Don't try to rib up your lungs With a sublime or grotesque poem, Or everything that makes you upright Will vanish at the speed of sound.
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