My Buddhist shrink tells me stories
Collected in Zen Flesh, Zen Bones.
He doesn't know I've bought the book
Or how I quickly solve his koans.

It's the same at work—I read the books
That no one else has time to read
And I'm a fucking guru when
Their code is tangled in the weeds.

Even you, who should know better,
Shake your head at what I know—
I talk about the things I've read,
A never-ending trivia show—

So where's the book that teaches quiet?
Promiscuous talk and empty arms
Are all the profit my reading brings me,
And at 3 am, they have no charms.


  (published in Matrix #48, 1996; featured at The Hypertexts)