Addictions and Kitsch

When there is no story,
To tell it is long. When there is
A story to tell, it is short.

One evening, Sarah summed
A great disappointment,
Her first pilgrimage to a monastery,

By mentioning how the rest
Room in the gift shop stank,
The shop itself was packed

With pricey tchotchkes, and the monk
Who had just made that big stink,
Hanging outside the door, smoking a cig,

Only wanted to know what she wanted.
"All my ideals gone up in smoke,
But that's humanity, monks too:

Shit, addictions, and kitsch."