Beneath a saffron tunic,
fleshy layers
one must only peel
to reveal
the endless circles
of samsara.
For the commute,
walk either side of the highway,
the BTS Skytrain glides
at a snail's pace,
martyrs making my
ride safe,
their mucous rejuvenates.
Fate is a lottery ticket
sold from a bicyclist
out of a suitcase.
The days here are sedate,
as all you meet are
endlessly okay.
© 2024 | K.F. Hartless
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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