Amitabha practice

I am
disorganized
disheveled
distracted
undisciplined
undignified.
Fanfu.
Hanging by a twig
over the snake pit
threatened by tigers from above
grasping for a drop of honey.
I don’t see the lifeline
Amitabha Buddha
dangles before me.

When I loved men
They said,
Don’t throw yourself at him
Don’t be too obvious
Entice him subtly
Play the game
The anxious, heart-breaking
Game
Only to find he was
A foul, noisy sack of
Bones
Just like me.

With Amitabha Buddha,
I can throw myself at him
with joyous, obvious
abandon
expose my smelly defilements
demand his love
surrender all my
cockeyed plans
obsessive thoughts
to Him.
Rest
in His yielding strength.