This version
is tacitly the best.
I am in the morning sun
when the artist arrives.
My pair of pajamas
sleep in frozen still patterns.
I turn my face oriental with my poems.
Cherry blossoms I turn inside out
light pink to white brevity for a short
time then walk alone then die.
I hear the sound of notes in my ears
approaching on silent footprints.
I enter the monastic life; abandon untimely
meals vulgar songs and dance mime statuette
toss garlands toss racy clothing
abstain skunk of perfumes abstain no visitors.
I leave all sinful shadows behind.
But I am of this world not out of this world.
I swear way too much and pray too little.
The way of Zen and Jesus is a boxing match.
Crack and smack a curse--
twigs break silence.