Five Poems from: I Love You Like an Old Street

Marriage Proposal

I love you like an old street,and the stars buzz like bees.

In the summer I'll give you the raindrops,pattering your palms like playing tiny silver drums.I won't flatter the future like I didn't the past.

Finding the vows we made in the pure soap bubbles of our childhood,I'll write them all down on your arm.I'll give you back the entire time when I was a tagger looking      for myself.

I love you like an old street,and like the stars, bees buzz in my ears.

Not for humanity but for one woman alone,I'll drink the whole bitter cup.Sadness is in my water cup like a piece of transparent glass.

Let Us Say Poems Are

The stars we attached to the night sky with the glue of despair.      Yeah, faces of dead children      fell and fell down,      in my mother's heart, on a single black island.

Let us say poetry is      a voluminous anger, that's me! Paper tigers of hundreds of layers      get drenched with a single slice of lemon.      Matchsticks fly wild with a single spark.

Let us say poetry is,      poetry, I like you.      If I'm with you      I can hug myself.

Let us say poetry      is here.

      Between a shadow of glass building      and a shadow falling from the yellow tower crane.      Between withering leaves of devil's ivy in the library.      Between the books closed halfway while reading.      In the cracks of the interview room door closed like a gleaming      guillotine.

The soft face of a sprouting mushroom      covered in cutout shadows.

Let us say poetry is      the rounded knees of rocks,      serenely sitting all together next to a dying person.

Coughs of tuberculosis stars      pouring in the middle of the night,      silent wasps buzzing in the hive of language.

The skinny leg of sadness, on which stamen did it land?

An eternally unripe black fruit,hanging inside me.

Expert of Love

I'm a mess but you loved the magic of love. I was a kind of pebble, but when you touched it, the most tender sprout sprouted. You like to play magic. I was a kind of plant, but when you broke it, bright red blood flowed endlessly onto the ground. I am confident in your magic. I am a kind of sea. When you dipped your white toes, they burned like oil. You are a wizard of love, an expert in that field. I was a kind of oil, oh, I am ready to light up in flame. You once loved me. When an oil tanker full of waste oil breaks up and sinks, I can't mix sadness and oblivion. Like blue water and oil. Drifting on the water forever and ever.

The Observation Diary of Paul Klee

I like to show a clean face of love or breakup.But the god of love comes to me with a face as worn as publicrestroom soap.Rubbing my hands, I worship until he disappears,but some uncomfortable feeling can't be erased.

War and its cymbals shattered the warmth and confidence in myglass fingers and brushes.Hello, my dead friends.Our childhood is not scattered.It lingers at the foot of a little fruit tree.If I put my hand into the clouds that flow as low as our height backthen,I can pick a few berries that can be used for paint, still.

Different shade of red and pain.At such times, I release the colors of the fish I brought back frommy trip to Naplesin the garden of geometry.

Through the crevice of a copperplate, I lookedat sadness that rips out little girls' hearts,at their soaring song with despair at the halves of the hearts.

I tried to fly with my clipped wings,the edge of the yellow sky...