Saying the unsayable
may, alas, seem meaningless . . .
too abstract from the living
waters of experience . . .
too far removed from feeling
as to seem too out of touch
with people’s intuitive
sensibilities, and yet . . .
an art worthwhile takes practice
on the part of the artist
as well as the critic of
the art, and monkpoetry
is no exception. Still, it
means the read has to be as
still as the wording, awake
constantly to the constant
drumming of the humming drum
at the deep end of a wake.
So long as we insist on
remaining in time and space
so to confine our notice
to the empirical world,
we shall fail the radical
empiric: Feeling Be-ing.
Notice just what is, what's not.
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