The Last Time

When was the last time?
A whopping decade ago?
I can feel the rapid disappearing of
the tail of my orgasmic memory….

Probably that was the real last time.
Another pessimistic defeatism covers
all over my body, mind and spirit.
It’s ok. My age is advanced enough.

Yap. I am finally free of doing it?
My unflinching dream gives in?
What is left on my not-so-long road of my life?

Yeah, the last time…
Many last times ‘till the real last time…

My Sin

Which one is my sin –
Avarice or
Indolence or
Both or

Having decent life at the mountain’s breast,
Cherishing desire to get to the mountain top,
Avoiding painful exertion of mountain climbing…

Not a sin,
It’s life
Not a sinner,
I’m human…

My Church,
My priest,
My fanatical friends
will condemn me,
will despise me,
will teach me, but
Jesus will say
“What sin?”,

So life goes on
‘Till the very moment of
The end,
Wherever I will be
In my mountain…

A Lone Flower in My Backyard

I’ve decided no more love in my life, but

A flower that has sprung up alone
in my backyard
out of nowhere
has come into my lonely heart.

The flower, beaten by snow, rain, wind, birds…,
can’t leave my backyard.
With its slender root deep in my backyard,
It won’t leave….

I has to just watch the storm that
could uproot the flower with
excruciating pain.

Since it has to live,
the flower won’t be put
in the cute vase in my cozy room.

The flower won’t ask,
“why am I here?”.
My warm gaze would be enough.

I can nothing but love….



I was duped
by my own not-too-unrealistic imagination
by my own never-ending greed
by my own not-so-passionate desire
by my own not-to-be-filled emptiness

I was duped
by my own ardent-looking prayer

I was duped
by my own ever-deceptive ME

Just like an ever-gullible woman who
is waiting for another doomsday
even more passionately even after
many world-ending prophesy failed,

I keep praying
with my colorful imagination
with my growing greed
with my passionate desire
with my hollow emptiness

I will be duped again and again
‘till I stop praying
in front of real Jesus
who would never dupe me but

how will I know he is real?
I might be duped again by my beautiful Jesus
who my creative brain created…

Is there any way to get out of this duping business?

A Night of Pouring Stars

“I will pluck stars for you.”
It was a promise I made and
The promise I had to keep.
On the night when the first snow came down to us,
I knocked her window
With palm-full snowflakes
And shouted in a frozen voice,
“Here are stars for you!”
Seeing a few tear drops in her eyes,
I knew I kept the promise.

Too bad. What a fantasy!
Snow is a blue moon here.
How can I pluck stars for her?
I should keep my promise by
sprinkling pollen on her body
in a beautiful springtime and
be dumped….?

Thinking about faux jewelry,
you don’t deserve mistresses.

A Beauty

I thought that wasn’t my share;
a being with this beauty.
I thought I was just a spectator, but
that being and I were alone.
I was the only one who caught the eyes
of the beautiful being.
I could savor the beauty.
Servile give-up; that is not mine, and
Disguised humility; I am not qualified –
They all lose their clout before
this genuine original beauty.
What am I supposed to do with this beauty that
has been entrusted to me?
Should I too become beautiful now?
Fling my deliberate rags,
Should I reveal my cloaked beauty?
Ah! That is it!
That beauty was I!
Its ardent gaze is not a burden any more since
I am as beautiful as that being.

Jesus Christ!

She and I were born in the same
forest. She was a poor little sparrow.
I was a big bird which could become

a brawny eagle. The future eagle despised
the present sparrow. Jesus Christ! The little
poor bird has become a magnificent eagle

and is standing arrogantly on top of the
mountain with its vast wings spread in
great pomp. The big bird has dwindled

to a poor little sparrow and can’t even look
up at the eagle on the top with its tiny wings
folded shamefully at the foot of the mountain.

What’s happened? Nothing’s happened.
The sparrow was disturbed at first, but
It realize it has no regret and even it is

proud of the beautiful eagle and desires
for her even though she is way out of my
reach. Nothing wrong with dreaming….

Dream on! That Eagle might be moved by
my little heartfelt songs and allow it in her
bosom. Jesus Christ! What a dream!