"I am not really a buddhist..." - some disembodied poetics

Several sangha folks have been making a big deal about this thing I wrote last month.
I figured, it must be notable enough to post on here. So, for your consideration...

"Last Monday at the monthly Shambhala Art Salon, we worked and played
with words. In one exercise, we each wrote down a secret (true or made
up), passed the secrets along, and then wrote down whatever came up with
the only stipulation that it had to incorporate the secret at least once.

Luther came up with this vivid and humorous poem I thought was too good
not to share"


I am not really a buddhist-

I’m a member of DEVO, rolling on stages

in flower pot hats, talking about potato

depraved post-Kent State apocalypse



I am not really a buddhist

I’m a water moccasin, certainly not a shoe

floating in Chesapeake bland backwater

with tongue flicking – no trace of equanimity



I am not really a buddhist

I’m a fundametalist Ishtar nightmare throwing

stones and guitar picks at the next infidel

to walk through that door



I am not really a buddhist

I’m a lost B-movie action star who never learned

how to act



I am not really a buddhist

I am a walking deception, red strings around my

neck, but no strings attached or detached

where it really counts



I am not really a buddhist

I could more likely be a used ukulele leaning

precariously against a tree, one tuning peg

never quite staying in place – the dissonance

makes more sense



I am not really a buddhist

I am a sleepwalker, sleep talker, neuromancer

or maybe just a dream, a dream to be

disregarded – or closely guarded



I am not really a buddhist

I’m a jack-off-in-a-box, the birthmark

on Gorbachev, a faker holding a damaru



I am not really a buddhist

The only thing empty I believe is my

gas tank, bank account, a brick wall

looks solid and real to me.