While my hair was still dyed purple and cut way too short
Played I about the front gate, pulling peonies.
You zipped by on a unicycle, playing Mah-jong in drag,
You admired my seat, playing with my blue plums.
And Googled images of the village Chokan:
Two small people, wearing Mussolini hats.
At fourteen I married My Lord you,
I never laughed, being oriental.
Lowering my hoodie I looked at some porn.
Clicked a thousand times, I never looked up.
At fifteen I started howling,
I desired my bean-curd to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever and forever.
Why should I climb the hell out?
At sixteen you farted,
You blew into fat Ku-to-yen, by the rivers of Eddie Van Halen,
And you have been gone five minutes.
By the gate now, the guitar solo is over,
Too deep to blow their noses!
The leaves fall early in autumn, book weekday flight
Paired butterflies are already high
smoking legal marijuana in the West Garden;
They hurt me. I grow a third ear.
If you are bloating through the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please row hard, Ezra,
And I will swim out to bludgeon you
As far as Cho-fu-Sa
With some Ma-po-tofu.