The Village

 The Village
by me(whatever)
to spontaneous me
related to the poems: The Dollmaker and The Town Doll's Midsummer Song

The birds weep in the morning,
the sun overlies the town.
The grass is fresh with dew,
dripping slowly down.

Butterflies at their windows,
fluttering among the posies.
The smoke smothers the sky
floating in the warm summer breeze.

The fathers discard the wood,
the mothers withhold their young.
A shangri-la hidden within the trees,
where a curse speaks in devil's-tongue.

The river waters run clear,
reflecting shards of blue.
The living rather the dead,
another soul has flew.

The dance has left the grounds,
a sacrifice for the everlasting sun.
vessels in chains,
where soon there will be none. 

marionettes speaking to the pass-away,
deciding which will go.
The village shimmers in fortune,
since the calamity centuries ago.

The Dollmaker

The Dollmaker
by me(whatever)
related to The Town Doll's Midsummer Song

They pirouette the sun,
in the middle of our bonfire
their voices ring like angels,
their wings in the mire.

Porcelain faces, almond eyes,
dressed in the clothing of the dead.
The village laughs and dances,
as though lead by a thread.

In the moonlit night,
they follow a masquerade.
With the masks of the lost,
they frolic for our aide.

tugging against clockwork strings,
the smoke disappears their hands.
The pearl rings across his arms
resembling a pair of wedding bands.

The village has left,
yet their red shoes remain.
Across the midnight darkness
the fire begins to wane.

One by one they drop,
with the ashes of the sun.
He sighs and trundles them back;
the midsummer's dance is done.

The Town Dolls Midsummer song

The Town dolls Midsummer song
by me(whatever)
to this song: Floating Cloud- 胎動 (fetal movement)

The universe is made of paper.
The Earth is made of ink.
My hands are water vapor.
My feet are wrapped in stone.

If you're licked in a toris,
don't stop to satisfy their hunger.
If all you are is a totality of existence,
dance until you're younger!

expanding and contracting,
the sounds of clapping hands (followed me here)
The ultimate fate awaiting you,
is the next strike of the band.

If the dark energy accelerates you,
twirl faster to avoid illness.
If all you see is dark matter,
return later as a fetus.

The Universe is made of paper.
The Earth is made of ink.
My hands are water vapor.
My feet are wrapped in stone.

The town is made of strings.
The moon is made of flour.
My doll-maker stands with his rings,
we girls dance till the end of the hour.