The Zen Master Accounts for Himself

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The Zen Master Accounts for Himself


I’ve climbed a mountain of knives.

Ignored, except by local friends,

into each night, I persisted.


There was an owl.

There was a scratching at the side of my house

that could only have been a water rat.


I counted pennies

and longed for gold coins.


It was difficult to hear my voice

among so many others of my time.


There was a stone fence I stared at.

Buddha statues cast shadows

far across my living room.

There was the constant small pain

of the never quite well.


I knew the daze I lived in was a daze

yet could never quite shake it.


Often, I’d start out, then head back in.


Each night, the moon climbed the sky.


-Dick Allen

                                                         On Barcelona

Categories: Poems & Photos

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