the grime, of a street fight

rotting beer cans, in the alley

rats

and people who look like rats

watching

arms flinging

like bones that will break

“Hey, hit ’em in the spleen!” Somebody screamed.

there’s nothing like a street fight

a knockdown brawl

I spit blood out of my mouth like Jesus

something bad is going to happen

people love that

For my holiness and peace

I am angry

I can’t take respect

from a loser

and

there are no winners

because there is no way

to judge a fight.

How did it come to this?

Idealism.

I have never wanted to climb ladders.

It’s just one rung

after another

and I’m afraid of heights.

Fighting on the asphalt

is my style

sweat and blood

pain and gain

“What do you have?”

Something real. Something, I can feel.

I have never wanted a corporate job.

Somebody said, “You write for a hobby.”

That day, I decided to do it more than 40 hours a week.

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a ball player—

On career day, the suits came into my school, and I hated them.

They were nothing,

and they were telling me to become something.

Instead,

I sit with books.

I have simple love.

I listen to my breathing.

I am like a frog, sitting in the sun.

My mind is empty

My life is empty

I am waiting.

Spiritual perfection is unattainable, so I don’t feel bad when I fail.

Failure

is the Way—

it is the letting go of success, of ego, of life, and of knowledge.