Black-as-can-be cats arrive a-pair,
Up on a rooftop, a plaintive eve,
And on the tips of their pointed tails hung
An upright thing of green sprouts out of the ground,
A bladed thing of green springs out of the ground,
Piercing the iced-over winter,
I rouged my lips,
And kissed the white birch bark.
Even if I were thought handsome,
I have no rubber bouncing ball-like swelling of the bosom,
With the firm hard teeth of yours,
How dainty [to watch you] chew the grass.
With the dilute herbal ink,
Drat that snatch-thief dog,
He howls at the moon from the rotting pier.
When the soul pricks up its ears,
It hears the shrill girls choiring,
You, in the hill country, out there on the red clay earth,
You, sleeping away in a desolate cave.
From a violent toothache,
I was holding a swollen cheek,
As I dug near the jujube tree,
Wishing to plant some seeds.
I always want the city,
want to be inside the lively crowds of the city.
Crowds are things like huge waves with emotions.
A frog is killed.
A gang of kids in full circle throw their hands up in the air.
They hold their cutesy little,
On a far night, the glinting pine needles
Accepted lettings of remorseful tears.
On a far night, the skies were frosty-white,