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He was a Zen miscreant
His perspective all wrong
His actions nonsensical
He stuffed ethereal thoughts in burlap bags
and tossed them off bridges
He trapped effervescent hopes in bottlenecked jars
and put them up for the winter
His turgid insolence
stymied the other Monks
created a demented demarcation
that even the most enlightened meditation could not erase
He was a walking koan
He was the sound of one hand clapping.
submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, A Word With Laurie (Review)
in which we are asked to compose a poem with a list of 12 random words (in bold)
