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Word Acts: Rite Of The Humdrum

In early morning Lawrence Willson contemplates the existence of self.

At dawn, sitting the quiet at the kitchen table by myself (yet not alone) I notice through the bay window a gray squirrel walking the wire linking house to phone service while a purple finch feeds and the wind blows wild the feeder hanging from the yellow pine deck overlooking a yard of mud left by the confluence of rain and construction required for waterproofing the basement . . .

not a sound intrudes
still water boiling for tea
while a thirst rises

Must everything have context? Can nothing be, without background? Am I me,

apart from not-me?

With contemplation (beyond time) my discrete self recedes resolving every disgrace. Then mind-of-the-one-I-am doth enlace mind-of-the-other-I-face on the spur of this wordact passing between thee and me. So long as the 'tween abides in mind we stay twin not twine. Yet be-ing twine we be twoless and empty of own-self-being . . .

swallowing the deep
whate’er I am not, I be―
ah, earl grey . . . thirst drops


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