Often trees are conductors of the absolute, the sidereal cuss
eternity. the blow escapes the rehab and into the fire as known
but
lost coupons short of your toaster of existence. the mind needs consciousness,
consciousness does not need mind. Bon Voyage.. when the body revolts within itself, and parts battle
parts,
it's the last revolution, the last pogo, follow the few that
have wisdom, don't let it deceive with knowledge, the brass ring of annihilation, you'll be recognized by a chip, and maybe it will be all that's left..

Saturday, November 29, 2014

Bei Xiaohuang

Ferry

  • by Bei Xiaohuang

  • Chancing to query, I give Baidu.com* a try.
  • Just like when lost in the hills, I ask for direction
  • from a wrinkled old granny.

  • One day, I keyed in “Bei Xiao Huang”^,
  • and found a few traces of a man:
  • he has the habit of using a green mugwort twig,
  • dipping it in the moon-lit brook
  • and writing down seductive, inconsequential words.

  • Baidu? When will my inquiry
  • lead me to my moon maiden, peaceful and tranquil,
  • among the rustling reeds at the water’s edge.

  • Ferry? There will come a day
  • when I arrive at the flowery other shore.
  • Will anyone there be gently tapping the keys Bei – Xiao – Huang?
  • Like his name, he still lives quietly in the light of the day.

  • *a search engine
  • ^Bei Xiao Huang, little northern wasteland, the poet’s pen name.

  • from 21st Century Chinese Poetry, No. 6
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