| etabu | ||
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sometimes i can't breath sanity i come from behind a cloud kwong-tzu was a heavy wide berth man 
he sat on a corner in prewar early china he cut out paper dolls glistening hot under a young sun down the street the upstart young copiers tried heavily to do what he did he in his jen so vainlessly gracefully he saw the young girl in front of him ease-lit day gushing lobs of polished loveliness bright her young legs her arms swallowing his chest kwong-tzu's scissors began years ago iei-tzu, sublime sun-startle lady from the north obliged the curves his fingers wanting 
scissors tracing so quickly the tissue so effortless beauty whose softness infirmed him everyday so hard oh so deep is love tendered the breeze in evening young damsel comes forward teasing him his memory kwong-tzu's fingers traced her into iei-tzu's new curves his sissors his legs pancing dangerously jen out in flight a few days kwong-tzu was lost he did not appear on the corner again the spring's feigned shiftness siezed a torrential fall there would be no summer for kwong-tzu his old legs stilting the young men began to mimic him sharp young artists crafts peircing through skills becoming the manner of it kwong-tzu would have to give them his life he smiled as he left the young girl's edge, never less sharpened 
deceased on his journey this cloud that tossed me the tissue from where he drew forth the woman life streaming from the lanterns of the hills, the restaurants, funerals I saw how from behind it all blowing forth kwong-tzu kisses her hand |
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