All fucked up #1

I know a guy
who put a gun
to his head.

He missed
so he tried again
and again he missed.

We'd play Boule
a French game of bowls
along an old walking track

below the house of wonders
where every room
was a fairytale of strange
stories from around the world.

Shiva and Buddha,
Jesus and the white witch
welcomed us in the winter light,
a celebration of madness.

I only won one game in all
the years I knew him.

He was a breathing, eating, shitting,
walking talking Buddha man
with only five percent eyesight,
an ocean of nectar, a universe
of equanimity.