Frozen dreams


​The freeze touches everything.
​Foreigners shadows are huge.
​And everybody thinks
​you go to be happy after death.

​The psychoanalyst’s say,
​dreams are always trembling pale.
​But they have an
​aversion to proof.

​My dreams?
​A rock that won’t eat,
​that becomes new maps.
​Isn’t this just joyous.

Out of hibernation

Out of hibernation

​”You look so lonely”
​You said.

​As the morning
moved slowly.

​”Not lonely, just waiting
​for the thaw, and the spring
​guests to arrive” I replied.

​So we sat,
​while jade hue
​embraced us both
​And fingers fell,
​treading the last
​of the winter snow.

Spring came walking


​Come let’s go.
​The errors are boundless.
​Until we are buried.

But as we move,
clarity sweeps the wounds.
No longer swelling,
from martyr avenues.

And of the souls,
and sour things.
I leave the moon, crying wild.
At the shadows,
from nature’s womb

Zen Life Poem #18


​The sounds of the streets
​talking, are your
long ​broad tongue.
​A smile seen,
​your pure soul.

It is like this:
You are happy,
then you are sad.
And again, and then not.

Thoughts and duality, are life.
They are present everywhere.
Winds settle, blossoms fall.
But the dawn colours,
are still visible.

This New Year’s Eve


On New Year’s Eve,
the baijiu goes floating by.
Touching the lips,
too drunk to dance.

The cold is hitting on me,
which I did not summon.
It’s just a habit, I tell myself.
Something left to forget.

I rub my cheek bone,
as I always do.
And find a place to write a poem.
A place with a life-living-sun.

Wasted days


​You said to me
​”Don’t you understand history?”
​All I could see
​was the swings,
swinging away,
​but empty.
​A white smoke filled
​the compound.
​”Don’t worry” you said.
​All I could see was a window
​watching the sky.
​An infinite blueness,
​that mask of merciful light.

A Wounded Earth


Suddenly, in silence
comes the emptyness.
Hushed and dead,
lie all the neon lights.
What is it like for you?
A wounded earth
blown out by the wind.
Or a wise woman,
freed from the
the lengthening
arc, of their
brocaded honour.?