Word Acts: Zenith
Lawrence Willson's poem tells of the disorganised remains of a fine self.
All things being apposite
no thing have own self being
No matter, I am now scatter - today
after fifty years of contemplation
I am a certain miserable wreck:
disorganized remains of a fine self
seeking wisdom and compassion
and ending up estranged from
one swami
one bishop
one auto mechanic . . .
My god, what a mess, this mass
**
This poem was previously published in The Moon, The Monkpoet: All Things Apposite . This can be downloade from
http://www.allrivers.org/Voices_of_Diversity_Articles.html.
