A portrait of an old poetess
She insists
Time be the sun and the moon going in the dark
Clock be that fig tree fond of being mute
Whatever is mechanically activated be just a toy.
She eats
Fifty-language-corn soup, satire-flavored ice cream,
Manuscripts full of abracadabra, romances out of date,
Bad tempered criticism, inspiration born in savage land.
She sleeps
In her tangled dream sees her dead parents
Fails to change trains at a monster station
Hears faintly the sound of war far away.
She laughs
Bitterly at herself forgetting basic Chinese characters
Pitifully at herself biting a blue planet to get sick
Loudly to see an overage horse win a grade one race.
She sings
A lullaby of old days
An elegy of yesterday and today
A new age love song of verse versus universe.
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