The secret of life is to attain belief that nothing

will be there when I return.

Extract expectation from the squishy gray matter,

plant it beside the lotus, through the eye socket, the nose

hole, behind the grimacing teeth. Plant deep.

The lotus grows from

slime, from the blood, explodes like uranium

enriched earth, spattering brains, bits of bone across fields,

leaves a meteor's crater in my breast, deep, torn.

But no matter, life is

like that, full of pain, agony, torment and yet

pure, unblemished lotus sprout from skulls.

~

Jan Haag, 2003