douseiaiSmooth white sheets on a bed of soft pillows,The light is dim so they shall not see them.Among the sheets, contiguous beings,Fingers, hands, woven flesh.Nothing else is, nothing's outside.Curves on curves on ripples of bedding,The rhapsody actuates piecemeal.The Sun is around the Earth,New moon, no light, they will not see them.The ceiling watches and comes in close,The walls do the same, and so does the floor.The curtains blow in waves of intensityAs the hourglasses fill with sand.The sheets are disarrayed, the pillows are confused,The equal shapes attain the pinnacle of elation.They disappear and the room is demised.
The ButterfliesOh me, oh my, up in the sky,There flies a thousand butterflies.Oh my, oh me, can this be real?Theyre looking for my soul to steal!Oh me, Ill flee, and hide away,So I may live another day,For nothing makes so loud a cryAs hungry butterflies way up high.I cannot stop, I cannot stall,Or certainly my flesh theyll maul.I must run on, I will not cease,Until the end of the Earth I reach.Oh no! A wall! A tall, tall wall,Theres no way round, no, none at all!Oh, it is I they will devour,For I cannot escape their power!Ill never live, Ill surely die,Unless I may sprout wings and fly.No, no, there is no way that ICould ever lose these butterflies.Here they come, oh me, oh my,I see their teeth, I see their eyes.I cannot find a way around
Unless I dig into the ground!Yes, the ground, its the only way!Ill dig a hole and there Ill stay.Ill dig a tunnel, long and deep,And there my body I must keep.Yes, di