Short Poems

He learns by groping if there's hair or there isn't:
a monk without a disciple has shaved his head himself

I think I'll wash my testicles with care:
the old saying says, “If you don't polish a ball, it won't shine”

We have parents who peep through a hole:
nights we make love they bother us as if they weren't grownups

Married, but they seem to wait for the night:
truth is, they've made up but really haven't

He cranes his neck against the dawning sky:
to kiss a tall young man farewell

Red inside, coal-black outside:
don't know, but it sounds like something a woman has

The autumn evening is for whisperers:
the crescent moon is there to listen to all sorts of things

Wind, blow, and don't blow!
we hoist sail to hurry to see the cherries in bloom

Too beautiful for me, but I have to cleave in:
the moon reflects in a tub for washing my feet

They sucked me to their satisfaction:
I slept one whole night in a tattered mosquito net