The Best Koans Make Ice-Cream Cones

It hard to know Why i was expelled From the fundamentals of poetry. Each day Like a loyal monk i played my flute With the basket Over my head. As the lemmings Passed In quadrangles of coe-eds. For everything i must remember Something must be forgotten. Often the days Of learning Have attempted to remove Both the marrow and my intuition From my bones. Learning is to suppress Creativity within Like a poor mouse Dreams of cheese. In the first graduation A woman matriculated From Adam’s rib. Into my textbook i stuffed the snowflakes i have cut kaftless With my artless intellect. Learning Is ego And i am Priest of nothingness. Some times The best koans Make ice-cream cones.