Buddha is bigger than you. His scalp is great with child, & his patriarchal breasts bulge with dharma-milk. His arms multiply exponentially like the mother of all Swiss Army knives, & he juggles odd objects: fly whisks, vajras, capacitors, USB flash drives. The Buddha is bigger than you, and easier on my wallet. I found him at the landfill & brought him home & placed him on top of the television, & he’s been growing ever since. Now I can tune in the weather from Colombo and Phnom Penh. The Buddha is bigger than you, & whenever he touches the earth with the tip of the middle finger of his right hand, shit happens. Under those rust-green robes, he’s got an Elvis tattoo — don’t ask me how I know this — & the balls of a brass monkey. Like the number zero, he is both real & imaginary. Ask him anything! He rings when struck.
Prompted by (but not based upon) Katherine Durham Oldmixon’s short film “Daibutsu” at qarrtsiluni.
Oh, this is marvelous. Shit happens, indeed it does.
Glad you liked it, Dale. I didn’t think you’d take offense, but I wasn’t sure.
Indeed, the BIG Buddha!
Love it!
I saw a Buddha once whose foot alone was bigger than the both of us. :)
What a great poem and what wonderful images you conjure up! I just took a whack at my Budda with a spoon to see if it rang true. I was also inspired to go looking for Buddas. I found that not even was he bigger than all of us, he’s evidently more.
http://www.esnips.com/web/BuddasfromTenThousandBuddaTemple?docsPage=1#files
Thanks for the comments.
So did the Taliban. Scared them shitless, I guess.
Buddha is infinitely replicable, like a virus.