[Her] Genuine Smiles [Are Against Others' Wiles]
No beauty is going to
be there
for things that do not wither
(I suppose)
We see what's beyond
(the mists between us),
Just like their Renaissance
A happy, wilted leaf
(On That Pavement),
beyond belief—
—Stairs to your Zen garden,
[but it's all tall fences],
colors are..that golden
Every mark, marked
in its substance;
people's irritable
lifestyles, their suns!
Yet we woke up
barely having known
those chafed edges
(these artificial vessels or furnitures
or implements of our dreams)
its beam of natural light,
not the fixtures, when it gleams
—content in the simplicity
of the God-given days
(but, of course)
also, for every nighttime,
when there isn't a rhyme
thing theory
all are just these props
our heartbeats untranslated
iconoclasm
The Deep Serene (Daydreaming)
Now, people-watching
Beautiful culture, serene
—as long as behaved