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.
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