Friday, April 8, 2011

Those Who Waited For Walt Whitman

With only her raw talent
and cannibalized pieces of her life
she went to the International Bank of First Impressions
for loan of idioms.

She wrote prose which sold for pretty pennies
to hipsters seeking highs from
other people's lives. 
At a reading of her passages
five hundred Buddhists who
were waiting for the return of Walt Whitman
(their bodhisattva) chanted "oohm"
and expired. 
Through the triumph of their communal will
the sacred band
was buried on a barren hill. 
Suddenly it was covered with a
billion leaves of grass.

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