The cacophony of the soul

Is like a coin in an empty tin can,

Rattling away at the insides

Whenever shaken.

To stop this erroneous shaking,

One must be still.

Fuck up.

Being still doesn’t work with the soul,

As countless wise men have alluded.

I am guessing

Their souls had already transmigrated

Into another box.

So they could sit under trees

And smile and talk to us about their stillness.