father has a square jaw.
so did grandpa.
when they get angry
it is like the earth sliding its
plates.
earthquake of fear
and regrets of the flower opening
to a sky.
i inherited a square jaw.
how can i deny this?
both hate poetry. i am deviant.
i love poetry.
both hate me. words are cheap.
and metaphor is sissy.
when i get angry, i take
refuge in a cave
of silence. i listen to water
dripping from the outside world.
i see roots of trees falling and
i know where the river is underneath
this existence, this life is
a tunnel where a red water runs,
who knows that it is red when
it is dark and flowing?
except perhaps this tongue that
knows the taste of blood.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem