Tristan Robert Lange

the tao of burritos

with the doors opened—

perception cleansed—

we can see the paths

as they have been

laying before us.

one always said

the door is a construct.

break through it,

reach the wasted dawn,

spread those sheets of gold,

copulate,

don’t hesitate,

the horse’s eyes must die,

rid yourself of the lie,

go to sleep and cry.

another,

much the same,

elevated more than a name—

key-frenzied chaos

over a cacophonous combustion—

reminded us to resist

the system’s game.

who could blame

when a stone projects fame

upon a name in shame.

one more still,

drove the rhythm,

reason—the bossa nova beat—

“this is cool,

“but what about this

“encroaching heat?

“we might become

“flayed and roasted,

“burnt and toasted meat!”

at the end of the day,

the final path—

a more taoist play—

said, “hey,

“we don’t have to go today.

sitting here’s another way.

“say....once i finish

“my delicious burrito

“and my conversation

“with this here mosquito,

“well, what do you say?

“we might as well go

“that-a-way,

“no?”

© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.

First published on tristanrobertlange.com, July 10, 2026.

Tittu