In a temple's main hall

Down with Buddha!
Down with handsome, well-fed Buddha!
What's he doing up there
with that oh so casually elegant wispy mustache?
Next, break down that painted whore of a crossbeam!
A dragon's head? What use is that, a dragon's head?
Tear down that temple, drive out the monks,
turn it all into dust and junk!
Phew.
Buddha with nothing, that's real Buddha.
Our foul-mouthed Seoul street-market mother, she's real Buddha.
We're all of us Buddhabuddhabuddha real.
Living Buddha? One single cigarette, now
there's a real cool holy Buddha.
No, not that either.
For even supposing this world were full of cake,
with everyone living it up and living well,
in gorgeous high-class gear, with lots of goods produced
thanks to Korean-American technology partnerships,
everyone able to live freely, withour robbing rights,
Heaven, even!
Paradise!
utter Eden unequalled, plastered with jewels, still, even then,
day after day people would have to change the world.
Why, of course, in any case,
and renewed to become a newly blooming lotus flower.
And that is Buddha.
Down with those fifteen hundred years rolling on foolishly, rumbling along:
time fast asleep like stagnant water that stinks and stinks.

Note: The ‘fifteen hundred years’ in the final lines refers to the time Buddhism has existed in Korea.