An Ancient Temple
Climbing the stone staircase
I visit an ancient temple.
In the evening
the sound of a bell comes
across the mountains;
the screams of souls confined in the bell
After a painful dream
I see through the bones of dead people.
I stand before a stone.
Innumerable mutterings flow on like bubbles
through the stone.
Beyond the cool
thickness of time
melts a town of dreams.
Descending to the bottom of the town
to follow you,
a migratory bird without wings.
After an evening shower
I must have stepped over a dream
in a spotlighted garden
a river flowed.
At the edge of the garden
I took a boat out on the river
to the farthest end
of my endless afternoon sleep.
The fragrant smell of flowers
comes at each joint of a wind.
I apply scissors
to your favorite flowers.
shatter and fall, one after another,
to sink into the water.
At night, I’m certain,
wonderful flower gardens will be there, on and on,
over the bottom of the river.
After the dream
you come across the river
and enter the garden.
Perhaps you were violently tossed around by the water:
your hands and feet still gleam
with fish scales.
The Inside of the Opposite Sex (complete)
(When I open a water map)
When I open a water map
the shoulders of the opposite sex have scales of dead fish piled on them.
I walk a town where buildings are deep.
An impulsive tongue stands upside down, pounding a bag of foul smells.
(A cold incident)
A cold incident rolls up a parlor door from an edge of town.
Beyond the door the smell of the soul, too, fades.
After the light peels off from the putrefaction of time
the head of the opposite sex is seated at the bottom of a thick wind.
(Beyond the arcade)
Beyond the arcade
the starvation of midsummer accumulates in the intestines of the opposite sex.
Entwining my sight with what scorches at the bottom of my eyes, chaos,
I crossed a bridge that gleamed like a blade.
(Perhaps because I’ve walked …)
Perhaps because I’ve walked through a darkness where light danced
the platform brims with grains of pointed screams under my breast.
Split the thirst of the dream making a round of the subway.
At the abyss of a roaring wind is the figure of the opposite sex plunged.
(Gripping the root of the voice)
Gripping the root of the voice
I chase the perilous shadow down outside coquettishness.
Bathed in the glitter of a scandal
I stand in a cold direction even now.
(The misty rain swells …)
The misty rain swells and an umbrella begins to sink.
the face of the opposite sex that flows at the base of the window of a boutique,
in my brain drops of water that have gone mad are jumping up and down all at once.
(The day I go down a river …)
The day I go down a river along old buildings
the shadow of a sobbing person is burning up on the water.
I shatter my memories with the color of a voice that falls fiercely
and go on drinking light far darker than the evening sun.
(For the duration until …)
For the duration until the water bus falls down to the bottom of the town,
the line of people waiting for the bus is quiet, their fingers picking up the embers of
The green of the landscape gleams faintly,
noiseless derangement lying undone.