WORLD POETS MAGAZINE

  Rose Falling Into Night   The miracle begins with touching the strings of night streams find their way through narrow crevasses falling stars twinkle in our eyes   Nested in each other we watch the rose falling into night as if reuniting with a childhood garden   On the carousel of our dance we whirl two angels in an embrace with clouds   I, the night’s star-lighter you, the city’s thief of hearts   What a miracle it is as if we were born on the first morning of the world   As if we did not before exist rivers have flowed to our bed.     Skeleton Man   Eventually the skeleton of the man was hidden in the well would moan in the soul of the night   The man was unable to feel the moment Walking with his own ghost committing little crimes to be able to forget the time   Over there in the land of the seals on that shore in love where the raft of Odisseus hit the land At the morning hour when Naufsika washed him and scrubbed with...

  Eternal Return   poetry blossoms without an appointment without time commitment poetry sometimes delays even if it´s planted with a shovel, with a hoe   poetry doesn´t always sprout even if it´s watered with too much water or wine   poetry however always returns and it fills me with joy   (Translated by the author)     Outcrops   current leakage? who knows? my heart has no voltmeter   sudden? who knows? my trapeze has no tarp   will it rain? who knows? my wish has no rehearsal   rave? who knows? my sidewalk has no curb   (Translated by the author)     Nectary   I make my abundant sap move around – just like a parenchyma grove (chromoplasts memories) and from my stem apex I give birth to the phloem, to the xylem and to the poem   (Translated by the author)     In The Coming Afternoon   Let's be eternal, my dear, even in the fullness of our wrath. Enough of our ready-made speeches, we can´t s...

  Modernity Organ   The contemporary: Sometimes, she lives in the temporary. Modernity means Greenwich Mean Time locked in its tracks, anxiety, tea nipping at cup walls. Sometimes, she demolishes fabricated Modernity, lives in the ​​self-immolation of the thought of the contemporary: black smoke pouring toward Russia, progress awaiting dead things beyond demolition.           (2011/7/3 Shanghai)   (Translated by David Perry) (From “China Eastern Railway”)     Red Army Street   Harbin: crowds boil with commotion, fat boils white in daylight. Russian trains rendering White to Red, students of Russia devoured, more night than ever, electrified, hand-in-hand neon and Stalin forging students of Russia.   Eating nothing all day broke poets await white daylight,waiting, waiting for a juan bing , rail-thin country mother tightly bundled in from who-knows-where, embittered cursing fathers, neon and Stalin forging boilin...