Satori in Oakland
Hey, Kerouac had to go to Paris
I get to do it right here in Oaktown
Land of the free, home of the brave
and hey, is this real satori, or
am i just bullshitting myself
maybe trying to bullshit you
pumping myself up with my own self importance
the way poets do
when they're wearing plaid sweatpants and a grey T shirt
and hey, does it matter about
my satori
when what matters is
your satori
___________________
What went wrong?
What went wrong?
Was it a word, a look, a hurt feeling
a small wound that festered, growing
more toxic with the passage of the years
perhaps a succession of such small wounds
Was it a great gaping wound
some large injury
done to him at some time in his life, who knows when
a wound which no one knew about, and so
when the worst happened
everyone was shocked
was it what was done to him
the largeness or smallness of it, or
was it the bitterness with which
he regarded it, obsessed over it
almost cherished it with his thoughts and attention
turning it over and over in his mind
like some dark poisonous spider
could it have been prevented, stopped
ameliorated by some intervention, whose intervention?
Did he ask for help, cry for help, turn away help, say
no, nothing's wrong with me, I'm OK
leave me alone
Who knew, and who should have known
could have known
did know?
The end result, shock waves
rippling through
family, friends, acquaintances
even people to whom he was just an article in the paper
a story they heard
one more human tragedy
one more confirmation to them of what they already knew
or thought they knew
an excuse to vent fears, anger, frustration
because if it could happen to him
maybe it could happen to them
or someone close to them
so if they can make some sense of it
even to say "he deserved what he got"
maybe they can feel a tad bit safer
in a world where it seems like
anything can happen
at any time
So what went wrong?
How to make some sense of it?
I don't know
