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                                                      still meditating
                                          although my awareness
                                          cannot seem to


                                          from its own thought
                                          and feeling enough
                                          to notice that I am

                                                      still writing
                                          but snagged off course
                                                      broken barbs
                                                      bleeding arm
                                          by pre-occufeelingthought
                                          and then swept buffeted and
                                          in the always winds
                                          too quickly to
                                          the poem satisfactorily

                                          a parallel-biotic


                                          between the two
                                          never reconciled
                                          and never needing to be





being wormhole: my awareness / and growth / are like my abdomen
[writer’s] block wormhole: block
sitting wormhole: stamina
thinking wormhole: writing as zazen
writing wormhole: ‘I should never want for something to write …’
zazen wormhole: attention