Dumped Man

A happy-looking man who
keeps throwing stones to
a murky horizon far far away
buried in a deep deep fog.

The happier-looking man who
Is gazing at the dim fluttering of
a seagull-like bird in a thick thick mist.

As if worshipping the horizon,
as if waiting for the fog to be lifted,
a happy rock with a look of
throwing stones into the sea water.

A very very old rock.

The Orgasm of the Mountain

Mountains are
not necessarily supposed to
be climbed.

Mountains do
not necessarily reach orgasm
by being conquered.

Mountains feel just
content with uncontrollable exclamations from me
looking up from their feet.

Mountains often reach
orgasm by looking down on me with
contempt.

I won’t try to
climb the unreachable summit.
I can hit my orgasm through
not being discouraged and
enduring contempt and insult from the mountains.

Cheap Chocolate

I ate the chocolate she gave me just like a frog snatching a dung fly,
which created a small hell in my stomach.
Perhaps it was a no-name cheap chocolate.
In fact, would she have given you a Godiva?
Just like you shouldn’t pick up and eat a chocolate lying on the street,
you get into trouble if you jump at things a woman gives you.
Thanks to that stomach discomfort, chocolate grabbed my attention.
I’ve found out that Godiva is not No. 1 in the world!
Ah! There will a time that I give a Teuscher as a birthday present
to a beautiful woman who loves brand-name chocolate, sweet things like me.
But I won’t give a cheap chocolate that causes stomach trouble
to a woman I hate, even though she is a sheer bitch.
However, if the thought that even cheap chocolate should be given is sad,
my mindset of no-giving-no-taking would be happy?
Because of stomachache from a cheap chocolate,
This excreta has been created.
Believe it or not, sometimes dog poop is used as medicine,
so cheap useless stuff would be worthwhile.
But, I wonder what this excretion can be used for…

The Dream of a Grass-blade

A grass-blade standing alone by the roadside,
The dream of a lonely-looking blade
Is by becoming a vast meadow
and by feeding a flock of sheep bellyful
to have it name fly high to the sky.
A dream; the bigger, the better,
but the wayside dream is just a dream,
A dream dreamt alone is just a dream.
A small advice to the grass-blade
from a drifter looking just like the grass
who is walking alone
with a humungous backpack on the back.

A Swan

Out of the blue,
I feel I am a swan;
How hard it is to have an elegant life!
You are not a swan.
You are not elegant.
Ah! I see.
Hallucination is man’s must to survive,
but not easy to be living in
fantasy, delusion, illusion, imagination.
If I don’t call me swan,
I would be just a waddling duck.
Nah!
I see a few old birds
sitting on a branch,
enraptured with me.
Now my illusion has evolved
so I can see young birds as well.
Isn’t swan a bird too?

Dream On

It’s just a dream.
Don’t put it into your prison and/or
into your pathetically poor stream
of imagination without oar.
Give it a wing, an engine, whatever.
Kick it’s ass up high in the blue sky.
What if it won’t come true?
It’s just a dream hanging high
just like a piece of pie in the sky.
It’s not supposed to get through to you.
Ah! Nothing to lose
no matter how ridiculous your dream is.
So dream on and on…
as if you are in deep booze,
as if you are high on a low hill.

Not My Road

I’ve never been this sure before;
this is not my road.

I’ve walked on this road for more than a decade;
this is not my road.

I’ve been running on this road with my chin up high;
this is not my road.

I’ve been crawling on this road screwing up smiles out of nothing;
This is not my road.

Looking back at the road I’ve been on,
I see many pieces of memory twinkling like the ice that cover the twigs and
I smell the fragrance of wild flowers filling up the whole road;
this is not my road.

I throw more-than-a-decade road in a trash can
and pick up another road;
is this my road?

The final road I will dump;
would that my road?

If I throw away all the road I was on,
they all would not be my roads.