If Spiderman shot his swinging webs
Only at the walls of a single tower,
He might beat around the building
A bit, but ultimately get nowhere.
That’s why I swing on metaphors
Sticking to different vantage points.
Some days I wake up to find
Strands of fallen metaphors
Littering my pillowcase.
Too weak to take root.
Too dry to hold their own.
Into the recycle bin, then?
Or maybe collect them all,
Donate to the barbershop.
He’s been recycling his stories.
Roshi, please enlighten me
How to maintain mindfulness
In the face of mighty boringness
Of chopping dinner vegetables.
“Pay attention to the metaphor
Arising in the moment.”
You mean like noticing how
When we expose our insides
After Life drives a blade through us
People just scoop out our cores
And throw them in a recycle bin?
“Or remember the real threat
To one’s vows of non-violence.”
The need for self-preservation?
“Hunger. We are all waiting.”