I count by meters.*

One, a blurry woman with a black bag
black hair, white clothes
who knows
if she's an old hag

Two, white teeth, black, short hair
folded papers, talking to the others
I wonder
if he's seen me glare

Three, long nose, thick, succulent lips,
flaccid, shiny, black hair.
Big eyes, blue bag, with a tad of flowers
Has she seen me stare?

Four, two loudmouths, east and west.
Murmur here, gossip there,
blah blah and blah,
stop talking or else

Five, three musketeers, east, west, south,
looking at me like I'll growl
squeak and squeak
moan and shriek

Six, one man, one book.
It read: "Hands off!"
I ran up to him
and he vanished.

Seven, one man, one book
One chair, in front of a mirror--
pressed his chin against his finger
He said, "God, let me rest!"

--- and I slept.

What now?
Since when?
Where did--
How did we...

SHUT UP

.. and *who's who?

I bet you
envy
the birds that fly up high
in the sky--
when I reach for my nape

I bet you
hate
the sight of shoe and concrete
on the ground
when I scratch my chest

I bet you
lust
for the succulent arms
in front of you
when I lower mine

Here, lie down
Kiss the smooth surface
Make love with it
Lick it until you're dry
decrepit, and bare
blackened and battered

On your face, now.
Sinner,
your God tells you
to atone below
the arms of night.

To my loved ones, I'm a ghost: I haunt them, I am to be shunned. Heartless as ghosts are, I do not feel wrath-- I feel the emptiness.
What have I done to become this sort of monstrosity?
What must I do to come alive before them?-- What must I do--
to become real in their eyes?

To my loved ones, I am ****. I am brown, filthy, avoided.
They seek to go back to the ******* of the owners
who love disowning them.
Why, my beloved owners, do you not see-- that I am your ****:
There are many like me, but this **** is yours.

To my loved ones, I'm just phlegm. Sticky-- yuck!
But, the same substance used to protect them from viruses
Why do you look at me--
Your protector, with disdain?

Do you not see:
I may be all of these, but I am yours anyway.

Every time, the sky gets infected;
with that blight we call "night"
Often, blemishes form on it
we then see specks of light.
Yet, it worsens each day
it peels itself; then bleeds white!

"Oh, doctors, what have you done?
Why do you not heal the bleeding sky?
Oh, butchers, what foulness is this?
Why do you keep wounding the sky?
Oh, my friends, why do you revel
In the sky's suffering? Why?"

They did not respond; the sign did it for them:
"We are united, we are one. Let there be peace on Earth--
peace that can never be undone."
And so, the sky bled white once again
patiently waiting for the blight.

So, I'm bad with a ukelele:
clinkcliinkcliink-- it doesn't agree with me
clinkPAKclink-- still no good
PAKPAKclink-- I need food
PAKPAKPAAAAK-- gone.

So, I found you:
My eyes seemed to deceive me;
I counted the strings, like onetwothreefour
Cliiink-- "lalalala~"
Didn't know there was a fifth.
Lalalala~
I love you.