1
You went to heaven, Sir,
forgetting your legs. Should we bury them?
 
My legs are rose-pink and they’re no good for a wafer.
 
 
2
Wanderer, the moon has its own saying. 
 
I would pour over your face with a bucket so
the water would flow onto your clothes.
 
 
3
Biscuits stick together differently than peanuts.
He started to nibble my girlfriend.
 
 
4
I remember the clear day and
the glimmering of frozen gutters.
We muse over those we love.                
We evaporate their most tender memories like a roast meat.               
 
You don’t move on upon love,
you move on upon a territory.
 
 
5
Then I liked him.
I stopped to shift you.
Ants like Somalian women  
have jugs on their head.
 
 
6
Doesn’t the happiness of falling into mud
have its share of gray color?    
 
Make a halt. Somebody walks the Franciscan street.
My body is my permanent possession.
 
 
7
Heaven was conceived with a knife.
In the hut there were no corn grains.
If you slip your little hoop around a harbor seal,
will it pour liquid on banks?
Everything in Korea is green.
Fresh mountain people kneaded into the town.
 
 
8
Maybe there’s an army in the horses.
Maybe someone spins cymbals in their belly.
In Aquilea the sand lays on the ground.
Night is in your head.
The space for a terrible long sleep.
 
Tell me.
I fried a carriage.
You listen because I tame beasts.