poetry is that
schoolgirl
junior high
you have
...
spring, my veins inches
to greet the gentle warmth
of the sun, the way the
butterflies frolic with the blooms
...
mom never went to school
but that never became a problem
between me and her
if anything, it heightens
...
i walk through myself
the stripe glass ferns
that jut out like blades
cut me in so many ways
...
as i close my eyes
a blackhole looms
this inner world
a torment it brings
...
total lunar eclipse
the temple
hurriedly closes
...
the way god works
makes me feel
my mind in my foot
and my foot in my mouth
...
tell you what's gold
to the poet - it is when
he is walking in
the bamboo groove
...
the earnestness to seek god
as if he is one's own
the only one for oneself
so that one could feel his wonder
...