Great Dinner
TORONTO/白水
Deep
autumn to the poets,
the
season seems defoliated
with its
colours damaged
to
personify their sobs and sorrow
Walking
along the path, I am
listening to the wind
in the
rain.
Well, my
poet
if your
desire is as thin
as a
piece of paper
do you
wish to write about that
or the
pallor of nobleness
or the
extensions of imagined illness?
I have
cake to
ease my hunger
as I
type these words for you
a great
dinner
is the
bright moon
with
twinkling stars |