The Gift Time Has Given to the Tower

The white bird in my head mutates. It’s grown wings
It flies over a forest of thornbushes:

Beautiful water-diving creature (black aviation accident)
Hasty house on a shoulder (monastery’s temple attendant)
Fog caressing the private parts of a city (one hundred cries of Thank-You-For-Your-
Patronage)
Inessential blue dye (the ocean is the sturdiest)
Translucent clouds are the most unexpected (capriciously floating, needless of tofu)
Lengthening a narration (tree that grows leaves)
Brief service (government of cursive)
Time amulet (everyone gives the tall tower an axe)
Massive use of if (comparable to the last persuasion)
Pig that has learned how to drive (silence is bribing)
Two kinds of vomit (undulating waste)

Sun Tzu-ping

Butcherbirds

The streets have all been taken over by the arrival of new birds
On the empty king trail
Apostles indifferent to the weather have lost the experience of a
so-called revolution
As well as the vanity of different tastes

By the jumbled road
A bamboo that has learned how to bend
Starts trying to walk and trouble itself
It always forgets to make a turn or leave a note
It is always late
On occasional taxi rides, it carries banknotes no driver can break

The moon repeatedly reinvents itself
The houses asleep

The new birds have their own language
Their tongues chew on scenery
The bamboo’s organs
Gradually age and feel a sense of obscurity

In the tough world’s garden:
The sad apostles walk in circles, hand in hand
Expanding a secret dead end
The butcherbirds, let down by the sky
Are still scheduled for the next improvisation