Midway through the Zen intensive

5/6/2023

With a certain kind of poetry — understanding doesn’t help — it hinders

There are many places — hidden — unrecognized — in our lives — where this is true

There’s only One Way
Con/Jur/d, 5/6/2023

We knew it was working, because of seeing how bad our memory
was, previously, we could not remember what we had forgotten

When you begin to see through, the dirty windows, the fluffy airborne 
seedlings, the morning sneezing, the seasonal riot, drop assumption

The full moon with attendant lunacy, is the same satellite who rose 
above the legion of unnamed ancestors and the vices done upon them

We cannot say we didn’t know since the who, who does knowing isn’t
the same who, whom we are, or as Ken said “A subject on one level 

becomes the object of the Next,” which we call enjambment, so much 
of what we think of as singular are these patchwork clouds obscuring

The Clear And Empty Sky.

Much Love,

Con/Jur/d, 5/6/2023