Lighter: Shade or Blind


To burn a life in ruins is to save

oneself through self-immolation. I will


not cough out sad, smoky hymns of ash.  Sitting

full-lotus in the middle of Saigon for all eyes


to see, Thích Quảng Đức lit the match

to set his own body a blaze in hope.  The hope


was to stop persecutions.  Currently, doesn’t matter

if it’s Cambodia, Vietnam, Afghanistan, Syria, or here,


the masses prefer persecutions over self-

sacrifices.  Welcome to Rome where Semper Fi


means nothing at all.  Everyone gets left behind

at some point, especially now everyone around is


completely detached from reality here.  The only

memories, a remastered Youtube video of some monk


burning himself alive for a reason no one cares

to know. The Nothing People are too apathetic


for conviction. They do nothing

with their lives.  These words are scrawled on


every overpass, archway, and gate: do something


to disrupt the delicate balance of terror.  I refuse to be a

cockroach on my back in bed.  Virtue is a stain on


the sheet of grace delicately folded

into a crane, shoved between the pages


in an empty notebook I set on fire as I sit cross-

legged on the floor in a little green room


where no one can record The End but me.



  1. Another poem with outstanding imagery and power.

  2. this remind me on Nietzsche: “There they stand; there they laugh: they do not understand me; I am not the mouth for these ears.
    Must one first batter their ears, that they may learn to hear with their eyes? Must one clatter like kettledrums and penitential preachers? Or do they only believe the stammerer? … It is time for man to fix his goal. It is time for man to plant the seed of his highest hope.
    His soil is still rich enough for it. But that soil will one day be poor and exhausted, and no lofty tree will any longer be able to grow there.
    Alas! there comes the time when man will no longer launch the arrow of his longing beyond man — and the string of his bow will have unlearned to whiz!
    I tell you: one must still have chaos in oneself, to give birth to a dancing star. I tell you: you have still chaos in yourselves.
    Alas! There comes the time when man will no longer give birth to any star. Alas! There comes the time of the most despicable man, who can no longer despise himself.
    Lo! I show you the Last Man.
    “What is love? What is creation? What is longing? What is a star?” — so asks the Last Man, and blinks.
    The earth has become small, and on it hops the Last Man, who makes everything small. His species is ineradicable as the flea; the Last Man lives longest.
    “We have discovered happiness” — say the Last Men, and they blink.°

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