How easily the ego
enriches delusion
bitches at what is
itches for what is not
pitches its tent in the hot
shit of jealousy
ditches reality
kitsch it applauds
ignores love-ability
hitches its wagon
to whichever star
happens to twinkle
stitch by stitch
and twitch by twitch
until we itch for what IS
bitch at what is not the IS
pitch a tent in a youth
beyond truth
love the inanity of kitsch
no more, nor the twinkling
whore’s core of a door
that is no door,
and laugh the False Self
into its most aimless
interbeing of selflessness,
without inflicting history
upon the joys of misery
— Neil