Cultural Revolution

Call me
Buddha
for curves,
metaphor,
taste,
and vindication.

Call me
Buddha
for melody,
comedy,
history,
and theology.

Call me Buddha,
climb the stairs,
cock your weaponry.
Here crows dine with lions,
and the sun tastes
Mandarin Orange.

Call me Buddha
for 14 hours,
for saving face
to praise mine,
for children licking
my Diet Coke
outside your Summer Palace.

Call me Buddha
in concrete gas,
dribble to dribbler,
Hello Kitty to bootleg,
bicycle for three,
flooded fruit
in alley coves.

Call me Buddha
tell me Gucci,
guzzle me with Prada,
give me good price
or beat me with broken English.

Call me Buddha
or fashion lady
or waiguo
or meiguo.

Call me Buddha
to make blue eyes communist,
to take Mao momentum
and create a censored empire.

Call me Buddha,
take a holocaust
and just push delete.
Take an eraser,
forget the names,
blur the faces,
and call him a hero.