My friend, Chen-ou
I used to enjoy writing these Oliverian lines:
alone
linger for a while
out of a busy day
for the bluethroats
that have gathered among reeds
bordering the edges of the wetland
for a musical battle
to see who can sing the richest note
tacc, tacc and a hweet
Now, in order to hear the birds
the fighter jets and rolling fireballs
must be silent, be silent
I just want to be alive
on this fresh morning
in the world of broken hearts
fireballs drown out
my bloodied friend's question
what use is poetry?
I'm startled awake
this snowy New Year's morning
Drifting in and out of my daymare, he looks markedly thinner and paler. There is hunger in his eyes and ... in his heart.
