Classic Poem

The way of the mat is
not to try to feed the world

I am the hide of some sun-worshipping sadhu
twisted and hung out
for everybody's dirty feet

this is also one life for me
after death
a net of pain
the outcry
of a sage vowed to silence

this is the final stage
of rivers of nectar!
to be poison also is a personality
the drunkenness of renunciation
is weeping and rotting with worms

my breast today is holes, oh!
today there's come into my bosom
a coiled serpent
a pox on my theories!
the way of the mat is
not to try to feed the world!