Zen Pessimism

All the Answers

Truth might seem steady, more than temporary.
A fire sooty? Smoke inhaled, temporary.

Born, crimson soaked, ripping a mother’s lips,
all answers are messy, soon temporary.

Let paperwork, savvy lovers, stay unsigned.
Blue, your blue ink stains are temporary

like school books, essays, trivia for Jeopardy,
graded, graduated. Quizzes, class, are temporary,

but memory lingers. I know this, lover,
because you are gone, cumbersome, temporary.

Finally, the cold dank ground receives me, never
deceives, or hates me—but still temporary,

for my spine (skeleton borrowed, never owned)
is returned to oblivion. See, all temporary

hurt, just more dirt, fat worms gnawing bones.
Though flatulent crowds are temporary,

heaven is not fated, and love, like a girl I dated,
all obliterated. Such answers are temporary.

Loosening tired, grave fists, will my grey
mind follow, followed by my ghost, temporary,

haunting those who wronged me most? Hell,
the Heat Death, a damnation temporary.