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