The Zen poet’s mind―still as an inkwell in an oil field; humble as a page of faint praise; silent as one hand clapping in a forest falling on deaf ears―is as sharp as Sam Samurai’s sword: like a steel stylus, shredding erudition into pulp fiction.
“Writing is a very focused form of meditation. Just as good as sitting in a lotus position.”
Ages before scientists traced the biblical Garden to the dark continent, Michelangelo painted “The Creation of Adam,” as if the first anatomically modern person were as pale as Pope Julius II, who paid for the job.
“The old master painter from the faraway hills
Painted the violets and the daffodills”