13 October 2025
a monk dissolves
pink. black ink scratches, kanji derivatives in shark fin soup unknit a dot and line flight launched from all you’ve ever known this morning as you scroll
back the window, if you’re lucky and have one in your mind, for here’s a plum tree flicking through its seasons because before you know you’re known by what you’ve missed you’re known by mind
a semblance on the brink of shock, the thought of which recovers from the clatter of attention – go figure, what’s your indignation worth if not a dollar, if not a crime, if not a turn
and twist toward embodiment?
here’s the electricity of it, to float easy in the wind of time, prickle with blakean rays and spout your thoughts as if they were divine, a billion stanzas spinning on a dime
and here’s another one, go blast dear thing, jump through the gotcha ring, diverge down any road that could take an unaccompanied corpuscle from its vein fast enough for apoptosis though cell death would sound better
which indeed it does though it is the latin that i love like cella small room store room hut as within a monastery as in to hide conceal to save to keep, is ancient accident enough?
because the former is derived from apo greek for separation and ptosis to fall off, just like a dying leaf detaches from, falls off its tree, the absence of signals activating self-destruction, recycling does the rest