It is.
What you don't think,
and don't want to share. Nothing.
Kamikaze― divine wind
destroying your crotch.
Saffron― dried stigmas.
The hiss of a dead shake,
kitchen's flavor for celibates.
Many roads to reach
the mannequins. God is
one. Hydra's tentacles catch
the believers.
Unwholesome.
I won't taste the violence
of celestial bamboos.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Iron tempered by heat. Made malleable and then made to accept the threaded die. Heavy, useful and enduring. A drop of water, some dissolved salt. And time. Stretch the drum head taut and tack it secure to the round, hollow form. Then attack it with bone.