“I bring not peace, but a sword.”
I laughed—you are Prometheus, but I am the spark.

This, too, is a shield.

Did you know?
In those moments,
like flecks of light,
souls
would flicker past my eyes.
Enter from one side, exit the other,
endlessly spinning, circling—
And I
Felt nothing. Only silenced.

And truly—how adorable—
Everything of me seemed a joke.
A secret:
the crushing pressure down the deep sea
and the towering heights of the surface (mountains)
are a body of one.

I haven’t met anyone new
All days trapped in this small room, one hundred ways
of boredom.
yet what’s the matter with repetition—
only drained my vitality.
What to eat?
Devourer of books.
Occasionally I find near-expired effervescent tablets—
the vitamins within are my only sustenance.
At last, I live the way I once dreamed, that is—
swallowing nothing but vitamins and knowledge.
Over 250,000 books are wrestling with my fingers.
Today, the poet announces her failure.

25th

You know, in all these days,
Dawn to dusk, I watched the sky accompanied
the earth; yet where was earth?
To the one I love:
I’ve been overwhelmingly tired.
I am in
your lucid dreams.
May there still be a restful place of waterspring.

So, how to speak of all these?
At the end of an endless disquiet, finally finding one
sip of sweetness.
How to soothe this hunger for sick sweetness?
As if you truly wanted it.
If I lost the thing I survive on,
I lose myself.
—Good thing you are here. —I have returned.
How to nourish the body with sustenance?
The Absent, never eternally absent.
Creation is not created by you.
How not to be afraid?
Now It’s all alright.

You were an angel when met.
All that I could never describe—only you understand.
Because soon I forget again. Sorry—who are you
again?
For a forever state of drunkenness will leave me
beyond waking,
with what shall I write books for you at that time?

“I’m going to the bathroom, and wash my underwear.”
“Drowning all the Germans and the British there.”

The way all this connects makes it hard to care about
anything.
You got it wrong. I’m not Hitler. Most times, I am
only—the Possessionless.
Person that left with nothing in war is me. Thus,
the soul of your remaining country is me.
Going to become many statues on this land
Yet I cannot bear to pluck out your heart
You are my second-time-failed art;
what should I do with you…when you can never be
pinned by eternity
This has betrayed my original intention.

In the old days, memorizing many people after reading
a book.
I once swore I would go find you
before I finished the last page of this book
All promises.
“Now, I’ve placed all my hope upon my hope.”
If I am the hope, it equals to a future of none.
Everything has been a hybrid of the past—that’s truly
disappointing.
If avoiding all that’s been made, then I won’t be able to
write down any word.
Writing is an annoying repetition.
One day, I’ll pick up that brush again,
only to paint the never-was.
Now that’s a promise again. Don’t say you won’t keep
it—
At the moment of hesitation you’ve lost everything.
Great, a person lacking everything is still my only
hope.

The sun rests in the west. Serene here.
I need to cross the Atlantic and reach the opposite coasts, maybe could see your father,
been knowing such a person since eleven.
And the end state is one.
Liberated from individual wars,
I wrestled you from the microbiome.

From rainfall,
From every sapling I’ve newly collected—
You are the body of one.
Do you know the world is one?
I heard our DNA is being collected.
You once told me you didn’t want to go to America
now would you go to Mars?

Surely seeing that facepalm again, how funny.
A three-story wave comes—shamingly I live on the
sixth floor, so it turns into rain.
—then should make my shell filled “Just do anything
to scrape by” Be a siren or something.

I threw open my window, letting wind and tide rush
endlessly through.
Carrying that indomitable, fragile fear
Swore for the third time that I would write down
every word I could think of.
Even if prophecy is terrifying—genuinely I—my
whole body is trembling,
thus the clouds tremble along, the sky roars its accord.
For they loathe the fearless, inevitably going to punish
with fiercer storms.
When you write too much, languages conquers you.
How to write an exquisite work yet seen by no one
that you are imperiously screaming Help Me
Then my ship came, saving me between life and death.

I
WASN’T
SAVED

SAVE
ME

I drowned on Miguel Street.