One Big Holiday

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The grasses that come with my mother’s picture

are Tibetan and uncertain

and they cant do anything but wait to get on the plane

back to my country and I had to ignore the wounds

because the monks asked me to in backrooms

covering every face I’d seen in brittle fabric

cutting their eyes open into perfect orbs

and handing out robes robes for everyone

and no one could sleep it was always too bright

and my gut was full of cancer and spreading to my hands and mouth

and everyone around watched the neon flashes

and I couldn’t draw the blinds

and the soldiers were climbing up the side

and handing out keys

and giving away stacks of rivers

and they shut down the temple with a big iron switch

and so no one prayed they just laid on their rugs

and no one was asking for money anymore

and it was 100 kilometers to night

and I sat next to psychiatrists and politicians

and their hands were stapled to Buddha’s neck

and for the love of me I couldn’t find the bathroom

and no one showered we just pointed fingers

and I knew something was wrong there couldn’t be this much marble

and when I stopped to ask questions they took my picture

and I still had another day

and I wondered why I came

and I wanted to tell the brick layers to go home

and none of them knew how anymore

and I saw a yak with half of its skin out in the field

and there were handfuls of dust everywhere

and the schools were clay forts with black windows

and all I knew how to do was feel the scarf over my mouth

and everyone carried a flute but the air was silent

and everyone’s attempt at shadows was just bright light

and I fell jumping from ship to ship

and I never gave her my ring even when she asked

and I touched Buddha’s feet and he spit in my hair

and there were only corners left

and somehow I saved ten birds from the lake

and all the colors of the prayer flags made a disgusting soup

and I made a squealing noise each time I saw a t-shirt

and the mountains are dangerous

and feel like the deep scars on the rancher’s faces

and I only took pictures at night

and when I tried to write all I could spell was poor

and the cobble stones hurt my feet

and made me question hotel managers

and there weren’t any trees

and when I got through I had to have breakfast

and I always felt like a gloomy worm forgetting to do something

and Claudio and I walked together with the goats 

and threw rocks at their sides when they stopped

and the ground was incredibly fertile for torture

and I heard a cow prod go into a nun’s vagina

and nothing felt moldy it just grew old

and I felt a cactus growing from my heart

and I put the toaster in the bathtub and shaved my head

and I saw a Lhasa Dumpster

and it said sometimes it helps to dream

and I disagreed

and watched Chinese soldiers give that nun what she deserved

and I cried

and perhaps I could say in the desert each grain notices nothing

but that’s welcoming and boring

and that’s madness

and the last evening I want to save

 



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