Shunyata
In the harsh, baron land
We exist in all day
Just one thing is clear
That nothing is sane
Where everything and nothing
Exist all at once
You need not look further
Than the tray for your blunts
It exists when it’s empty
And still when it’s whole
And its purpose remains
To collect ash from your bowl
Until the day comes
And the smokers have stopped
And the tray still exists
But the ash does not
















