on my way home i saw a sign
for “Mastering Meditation”
(i tried meditation once
but found far more interesting things going on
on television than in my head)
and it made me think that i might go
to India and find myself—
not just find myself, but fucking find myself
(it sounds more rebellious, more fiery,
more spontaneous that way).
i’ve been told that i would fit in well
there, as so many come up to me
as a brother, a friend, a nice Indian boy
for their daughters, and i don’t have the heart
to remind them of my last name.
i will go (fucking go) and ignore this study book
on my top shelf: i will go, shave my head
to keep the bugs out of my hair
and simply wander: i will carry my bowl
for rice, shit in outhouses,
bust up a sweatshop and save a village—
a vigilante with a buzzed head
while the parents speak to me in Hindi
to rearrange the marriages for their daughters
but i tell them all i want is a little rice
and maybe some real curry that someone told me
i should try once.
i will finally meditate by the Ganges
and raft on a floating corpse
so that i can laugh (fucking laugh)
in the face of death.