Is that butterfly so common
that I can’t remember seeing it
even though I saw it many times?
Its wings are not fancy with no rainbow colors.
They are not rare wings with eccentric shape.
They are not wings with mottled pattern.
They don’t have strong primary colors.
They can’t be distinguished with dull background.
Still, the butterfly flutters its wings in pride.
Why does a fancy butterfly lime me awake
and want to be a flower?
Why do I want to rooted in and locked up in a land,
even though I was flying in the sky in freedom?
The butterfly might be a lonely wild flower
born in deep remote mountain
or it might be a pitiful grass hanging in the cliff.
or it might be a woman waiting for a man in the red street.
Well, it might be a mother with baby on her back,
going over a dark hill.
That is why she is so sexy;
She is so so ordinary.
That butterfly drinks cheap wine
and its wings are dyed reddish.
The flower deep in desire is peeping
at its stealthy flapping.
Unless this is not a flower garden,
if I am the only flower,
The floundering butterfly would have
flown to me. Wait on!
You are rooted shallow yet.
I am afraid the flower might be uprooted
with just a little pull of the petal.
Even though the root is too deep and
can reach the other side of the Earth,
a flower should never move.
Would it give up being a flower
because of reddish wings of the butterfly?
You are wearing blue jean.
So what? Even homeless man wears it.
Right! This is a beacon fire.
Something is coming or
Just a door-knocking sound.
If the fire comes down the mountain
And swoop on me,
Then I would become a burning bush
Seducing old Moses.
Struggling to climb to the top of the mountain
Might make you uprooted so
Just stay put and wait for
A young butterfly
With lots of dreams
Coming and be trapped
By its own snare.
That butterfly would be circling around
With Armani in its mouth?
Because I should be a flower.
She, trying to upload her name to the cloud,
seems to want to fly a tower of babel up to the sky.
I attach wings to the flower holding a fort
and it’s become a real butterfly.
Will it be wandering from stars to stars in the Universe
fluttering its fallen-leaf-like wings?
I am here, my lady!
I, being on this blue star called Earth
is trying to grab wings of the passing butterfly.
It is I who tried to upload a tower of babel!
How fortunate that I am a boy who
is building a sand castle on the beach!
She might want to be a mother who
raises a newborn baby.
Millions of scandals couldn’t stop Bill
from getting to the top of the Sequoia tree.
Even sex with a little bird in the top leaf
was not able to pull him down from that highest spot.
With all of these filthy scandals,
not a single leaf was shaken in the tree.
How deep is the root of this huge tree?
Otherwise, is this a cloud floating in the sky?
We’ll see if Don is able to shake even one twig.
This tiny house where a flower
that hasn’t become a butterfly and a butterfly
that hasn’t become a flower are in together.
would be collapsed by a single ant?
How could a minikin like an ant do such a thing?
But a scandal between a flower and a butterfly,
who are more minuscule than an ant
could destroy the building in an instant.
The nest they are in is just a sand castle,
which even ants are not needed to be destroy,
Is it just a collective rootless formless phantom
in people’s heads?
This castle that the butterfly is settled for snugly
might become a paper shack
that would be swept out by the flood
from the scandal ensued from a mysterious
word of that bird?
Is this place that looks like a sand castle
a just a clearance in the forest where
the flower and the butterfly stay together?
What if I rumor the scandal to prove
that I am at least a small tree with thin roots
deep in the earth and with branches
looking up toward the sky?
Why do you live?
The lyric of a pop song is now my song.
I am trying to sink my root deeper in order to be a flower.
How can I dance trying to get closer to her?
If only I could just watch her.
If only she won’t vanish in the morning fog.
She would give up becoming a butterfly
so as to remain a flower for me.
Then we are a couple of flowers
gazing at each other, hiding our desires.
It might be a beautiful picture.
But rather would we be happy
if we are plucked together and
being withered in the tap water of the vase?
Would we be happy
if only we could just watch each other
and feel good as we are?
The butterfly has become a bird in front of me today.
Bird watching is a tough task; a bird told me.
You have to be hiding for many days waiting for birds.
How lucky I am! A bird, a pretty bird is singing right
in front of me without even trying to fly away.
Has I become a flower already? Right.
I don’t have to hide in order to watch a pretty bird.
Opening and closing its small and cute beak,
the bird is singing a profound and intelligent song.
Wouldn’t it be great to add sexy to the beauty?
It’s dear-like long neck – don’t ask, small bird has a neck? –
looks like being surrounded by not-so-cheap perfume.
Lots of fish must be swimming in its eyes like a deep lake,
that once in a while meet my eyes full of hidden desire.
A mermaid that is playing in surprisingly plain feather;
next time, snow white will be sleeping in there?
I don’t see a tail in this small bird.
How long and pretty would its tail be?
the tail will be surely wide open…tomorrow.