Weak Poet, The

When a author of poems is weak,

like a shattered microphone,

he still has a certain number of power,

indicated by a r light.

The weak author of poems

is fixed to the wall

like an ordinary light.

Dependent and dismal by means of turns,

he is a nominalist

and a razor blade

and a light.

And the devils cry,

Cast him from the kingdom

for a transcript of a copy!

Remove him

like the women who supported the temple

slaves too independent and alive.

His similes are ingenious, like science among lover

My friend, however early

you called, you had draw near

too late, again.

The weak bard

has not gone grey

but his sacrificed similes

lead nowhere.

And his I is like any other word

in the newspaper and he is chop up

like fashion.

Each window was seductive,

but plane his diseases could be cur

Your depressed voice alone

is major like a skepticism.

We had forgotten

the place and the stories,

and the fiery [i]modus operandi[/i] too familiar, too distant.

We had memorized the piece of poetrys

but only for prison.

With the first fresh year celebrated in chaos

above the r waters of Paradise

Where a clayey waiter

hears the bride's voice

like a stronger world

Sound is all

a snake can do

and charming faculty of perception

and strangeness.

Now the aged poet

loses his voice like a garden.

But finds it again, like a way in a garden.

In the injured house

made of local orb of day and stone

In the city of numbers

which everyone enumerates and hates and wants

We could read together in a dark city garden,

scribbling with language above

screens like lips, scribbling the first mistranslations.

Copyright World rhyme Incorporated Nov/Dec 1997

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