Arsenic Lobster poetry journal
I pull a blanket in around me
water and all,
turn my teeth to worry stones
repeating the Buddhist Truths:
Life is suffering,
like an eternity without fingertips, to be
as quanta of light-
energy absorbed and radiated
This should be the foundation of ego:
I am me and I am not me.
A wraith in my veins, I am at ease.
The cause of suffering is that we cleave.
Sometimes I think I am the kind of light
only butterflies can see.
I donít know how I will ever find work,
unless butterflies exist that are also men.
there is a way for suffering to end-
no eightfold path or twelve-step program, but
there is a way
in the thing perceived to be in between,
a constant laughter we interrupt by breathing,
when we try to hold our breathing in.
About Sarah Glass