by John Tustin.
How I’ve longed
To not be me
In my transgressions
And helplessness
And also
To not be like God
Who bears the weight
Of his omniscience
And his grand ambivalence
But to be like
The yogis pretend to be
Or the lunatics sometimes are
When they mumble
Their curses and prayers
With eyes hollow
And unglued.
How I’ve longed
Through my life
For nothingness.