- composed in Shuang Xi,
January 21st,
Chinese New Year’s Eve -
I. From a Mountaintop Just North of Whoville
South to north!
Volley forth
in a wind careening north!
North to south!
From your mouth
send the howling tempest south!
West to east,
raging feast!
Flay the mighty, flay the least!
East to west,
from your breast!
Slay them all, then slay the rest!
Vengeful gales,
slice their tails!
Swipe their crops and flood their pails!
Bestial winds,
know their sins!
Mark their miens, their mealy grins!
Ahhh!
What is it in their heads
that the breath inside me dreads?
From your sheds,
windy spreads!
Spread your anger, make their beds!
South and north,
west and east –
be their hangman, be their priest!
North and south,
east and west,
hurl them off this windy crest!
Vengeful gales,
slice their tails!
Swipe their crops and flood their pails!
Bestial winds,
know their sins!
Mark their miens, their mealy grins!
II. From Atop a Dump Just South of Whoville
Tawdry moon,
scan this tune –
jaded has-been of the noon.
From that height,
semi-bright,
lend your mitigated light.
Lend your sheen,
muddied screen.
Succor this indifferent green.
Light the mounds.
Billion pounds
stacked across the rubbled grounds.
Broken pump.
Fiscal slump.
Hundred years upon a dump.
Broken cans,
pots and pans.
Over there a watchman stands.
Ahhh!
A statue of a man
with a cursor in his hand!
Open grand,
‘40’s brand.
“Claire de lune” upon the stand.
Bawdy moon,
be the groom.
Here’s your bride in gaudy bloom.
Here’s your bride,
acres wide.
Come and woo her, swell her side.
Broken pump.
Fiscal slump.
Hundred years upon a dump.
Broken cans,
pots and pans.
Over there a watchman stands.
III. Next to Last, Next to First
Next to last.
Ages past.
Gather up the shredded mast.
Wrap the grail.
Paper mail.
Fly it low above the pail.
Leave it there,
in the air.
Go reclaim your naked mare.
Ride her high.
Boldly fly.
Pass the fallen bridges by.
That’s the song.
Play it long.
Sing of the abandoned throng.
Play it low,
soft and slow.
Tend it as the verses grow.
Ahhh!
The ones who gather there
are the patterns that we wear!
From that lair,
grab a pair.
Find a third and climb the stair.
Make your climb.
Walk that rhyme
‘round to youth again in time,
lips unpursed.
You’ve rehearsed.
Line yourself up, next to first.
That’s the song.
Play it long.
Sing of the abandoned throng.
Play it low,
soft and slow.
Tend it as the verses grow.
IV. Sigh
- for Wu Bai -
Rolling sea,
roll through me.
Pile my mountain, wet my tree.
Restless breeze,
shake my trees.
Bend them to their barky knees.'
Sleepy earth,
ease my mirth.
Lay me in your sleepy girth.
Empty sky –
where they fly,
meet my glances from on high.
One plus three.
Four are free –
earth and wind and sky and sea.
Four are nigh
as I sigh –
wind and earth and sea and sky.
Ahhh!
What is there more to know
from within the onward flow?
Two things glow
where I go.
One burns hard and one burns slow:
Blazing sun –
as you run,
blind at noon my shadow’s one.
Silver moon
in my room,
fly me over evening’s noon.
Ahhh!
I take another breath.
Six things with me unto death.
One plus three.
Four are free –
earth and wind and sky and sea.
Four are nigh
as I sigh –
wind and earth and sea and sky.
Blazing sun –
as you run,
blind at noon my shadow’s one.
Silver moon
in my room,
fly me over evening’s noon.