Three Times


She wrote to me
It’s still vivid, like a bird
So celebrate when you feel
the tears of the oppressed
Your mother told me
I think of you, I think of you
more than you love me

One poem read…
Fractured bones, a hole in the heart
It’s because their sad cries…
and then come back north
Epilepsy, almost blind
Please open your eyes

Why do seabirds wake me from my dream?
the keeping of concubines
Taipei Medical University Hospital
She left days ago
I couldn’t help shedding tears
The photos.
when you’re honest to yourself

My name is May
for marriage…
…pierce my heart
…and sink it that way
With all that has passed
May rest, such cruel sound


The Idiots


spin the bottle
Is A Religion
the very heavens shine down upon us.
She was right when she said
lost their little boy.
who has such lovely eyes
their skulls and gas them.
Every day for fifty years.

something to do with the family.
wonderful things we’ve shared.
A tired group.
A bloody mess.
Gang bang.
Deep breaths.
Lots of flags
“Les Fleurs du Mal”, 1944.

I love you.
even if it’s provisional.
Your lies are pouring out
He likes them.
All this sentimental crap
I’ve heard 17 different versions.
of every hole in your body.
BYE, Sugar.

I’ve chosen the right words.
liberated and unprejudiced,
There is one little minus.
really, really awful for you.
Not so hard.
Look, you’re floating
I’m sorry I couldn’t come to

and out of the bloody lake.
That tiny bit of paper
Sulked sulking
When she slips off the hook
The black on the left.
tied me to a decent bed.
I know sod all about knots.
Round the damned palm


Voyage in Time


What are your most enduring images
as if the wind had blown away
an iron ball to hoId
It was a circle with some volume.
sadness and loneliness…
tragedy, happiness,
with a dim light.

they love each other,
scattered here and there.
in cinema always indicates
whether it is fog or flowers.
an extraordinary white floor,
The atmosphere of mystery,
sets his wife on fire

It’s the Biblical concept.
about someone…
that was made in memory
wave has thrown out on the shore,
It’s aII in the altars
Indian, Persian, Egyptian,
Dry soil makes a noise
That imprisons whoever passes by

There is so much dust.
In memory of such a poetic story,
The mute movie.
Most regrettable is one scene
their feelings…
Is so light that cannot be kept in
where the grave was.
(continues poem in dialect)

Robert Bresson.
feII madIy in love.
Then it’s a cage
When the wheat blooms,
some rose leaves.
Then, with great pleasure
steam rises in the mornings…
is very paradox and poetic.


The Night is Young


Your lips brushed my ear
That was ten years ago…
his right arm was in a cast.
As a girl would to a boy.

He came across a love-letter
And each of us drank
his sugar…
No, Marc’s the love of my life.
The ripcord.

An infection.
that was deep down inside him,
A kind of hemophilia of tears…
Transmitted by caresses.
Yet, that’s when you leave.

Do your ventriloquist act.
On my back.
You threw sentences like knives
At the sea.
that glues us to each other,

love story,
caused by the comet,
“Never” is a word for children.
in sepulchral voices,
black lost, who saw it?

the something syndrome,
Because you have blue eyes
They’re mayflies, short-lived…
sentimental. With me,
who make love without love.

Every morning, concrete in my gut…
The grass is black,
that burns fast…
envelops everything…
from the foot of the bed,

We did something irreparable…
Like a wave that always breaks in mid-ocean,
We’ll have to stitch that.
with hundreds of beds,
you’ve read and re-read,




Our Father who art in heaven,
The boy was dark

this heart, repentant and humble.
or in the lake.
What a beast came out.
and circumcised.
from pieces of cloth or glass.

let him die in peace.
thinking about?
Forever and ever.
stained glass window…
in the hospital.

Take Mary Magdalen…
What happened, happened.
About carnal love?
We’ve had our little
in our memory.

Do not despise, Lord,
You have children.
I hid them in the woods…
Male, sensuous.
died and where they’re buried.

Enemies of the People.
Good people…
A whole bed of red tulips…
poverty and obedience…
Naima by Coltrane.

Your real name is
Beautiful instrument.
This Jesus of yours
She has such beautiful hair.
If that graveyard still exists.

we’ll walk on the beach.
I can destroy you.
God willing.





to start a sentence.
is beautiful.
Green eyes,
spotlights, pendant lamps
honey-coloured hair.
The view was wonderful
it disappears completely.

My wife
Blue with red writing.
Internal bleeding, broken ribs.
Exotic and mysterious.
A master mariner.
She asks me to kiss her
from time to time.

We were just dancing.
the last two years.
he gets armoured up and goes.
It feels like paradise.
so long as I never see you again.
and the photograph.
a poor substitute.
that winter swimmers don’t know.

She lost her sight in her old age.
Heart attack.
and stays white,
Leave your blouse on.
A man.
is purely symbolic.
Bite your nails a little.
Don’t worry.

The end can be a new
Please, a little longer.
Again. Clearer.
I don’t wanna see you again.
At the foot of the mountain.
Don’t tell Mont Blanc.
My condolences.




I’ll sleep in the little room.
that I’ll be gone.
It is American.
And common.

Better a poor guy who fucks me well
A stereo set.
Stuffed tomatoes.
semen stains.
Everything. Everything and nothing.

The bed is broken.
It smells of death, of dust.
Lust is temporary.
Can I lay here?
when they stitched the wound?

a baker and a butcher.
has to pay for love.
I’m not alone.
like the others.
Then you’re both dead.

…but because I felt lonely
I’ve been stabbed.
80, 90 kilos. Bam.
A real love nest.
Opening them is a pain,

She closes her eyes.
Get lost.
faith in me.
He thinks I drowned myself.
Here, for the shells.

I see all those empty clothes hangers…
Nobody loves each other anymore.
You’re crushing me.
Better than with mum and dad.