Desert

I chew on sand in your poem.
Reading your poem won’t get my heart moist.
Why don’t you have a date?
Try to dip yourself deep in love.
Then your poem will get al dente with some moisture.
and make the small chest of a woman pound.
The poet who is looking around;
That flower garden was a mirage?
The poet who is crossing the desert;
built an oasis, but the material is only sand.
The flower garden is a hologram that came across the Pacific.
Maybe it is my hallucination;
Can I cross this desert
If I walk and walk and walk again while
chewing and chewing and chewing again the poems I wrote
when I was floundering deep in love?

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