詩; poetry

samsaric debris field

it isn’t easy to help
a photon plane.

what does it want?
how is it suffering?
it just sits there.

projecting photons,
little fires,
all neatly arranged.

we do so much work,
changing photons,
countless planes.

speakers; the same.
mass vibrators,
countless planes.

cooking, chemical,
texture, and photon
re-emission arrangement.

touch, taste…
the skhandhas.
heaps.

a samsaric debris field;
within, lotus rising
from its mud.