THE THREE COMMANDMENTS

Imagine knots of greenblack

caterpillars 

writhing

in filthy jealousy—

beneath the neat 

arc of a mango 

and orange- 

cream colored paper 

butterfly—

because 

they don't even

know they don't

know.

* 

What is your body,

if not 

a temple—and 

what is 

a temple, if not 

a tomb?—or maybe 

it's more like

a life-

boat? A tent

that gets
pitched?

Portable
flimsy and temporary

housing—

to droves 

and droves—of pilgrim 

abstractions.

* 

Think about it—

One single person

cannot be a 

revolution.