Jun 14, 2020
1 min read
The Zen of the Indifferent Promo
a prose poem
If my work stares straight into the blank nothing face of the silent non-response to its bloody spasms has it achieved Satori? What is the sound of all hands ignoring? As this brutal Koan writes its truth can I sit on my pillow in a quiet room and count my slow breath as my day job’s laughter rings through my head?
