Shing Yi Ng
He found a tower of proofs,
And returned to the first stone,
Rounded so smooth
It forgot itself to be mirage.
He saw the impossible
Trojan horse in a replica
Of desire and bind. In language
He escapes like a paper crane,
Emboldened and in despair.
But do the sakuras feel pain?
Dissolving like blood in a cistern.
Yet it is in a forest of neurons,
The gray cornucopia, that flees
The thorough road of fire and salt.