a permanent home for nomads
or i've been drinking and dreaming of
chauffeuring allen ginsberg
around lincoln - by Bil Johnson

real Bodhisattva recite
lines like syntax distractions
one breath drawn out like warm south winds
break at corners
inhale
sigh
inhale
they die untragic deaths protesting worn-out wars
buried in boring plots flesh devoured
like spoken word
outcast
laugh wrinkled eye corners
turn up like they now
everything is. but nothing. real.
mountains erupt from nothingclouds
and grain by grain by pebble
impermenance wears on the soul
on the soil
forever peaks whisked away
snaking across dry hills of sand
seeking the mouth
seeking enlightenment

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