Andreas Andersson

Untitled


birthplace: a whorehouse.
at the end of life, eyes
of a Buddha peering
back at those soon to be
mourners. it makes perfect
sense to anyone who knows
anything about compassion
and life. i don't believe
the stories of palaces
golden pavilions, women
of virtue giving birth
to tiny saviours shining
a light on the world out
of their navels. i believe
it all happens in a whorehouse
to women who have lost
their virginity so many times
to so many men
that the whole world resides
between their legs. within days
all forgotten, all women
mother to the child.
that's what it means
to be a Buddha.