SOLILOQUY

One must not fear death

to toss dead batteries just anywhere.

One must not fear death

to dump phosphate in rivers.

To gossip about this family or that in the market

makes one stink like fish or shrimp.

To shit in one’s living room

is no worse than shitting in others’ living rooms

and requires a fearlessness of death

or, not to go mad, a sense of humor.

One who walks barefoot into a rose bush

invites his own demise.

One who plucks roses to sell cheap

may not seek death but will find it.

One must not fear death

to sell himself like a rose.

One must twice be fearless of death

to buy everything and sell nothing.

Enter a procession of crows

to see if your heart beats faster than theirs.

As for the pillow talk between a male and female tiger

only someone who’s died twice dares to overhear.

Only one who’s died thrice

dares open each pore of his flesh to ants.

Only one who’s died four times

dares become a butterfly, caring only about sunrise and sunset.

Sunrise. One fearless of death climbs to the mountaintop

digging out his camera;

a full-moon shaped UFO crosses his viewfinder,

a green-faced, long-toothed monster inside it

who enjoys bouncing between stars

just as you, fearing neither life’s troubles nor death,

enjoy dancing between professions,

or walking upside down through a crowd.

One must not fear death

to say all’s well in a pretentious falsetto.

One must not fear death

to say stupid things aloud before Chairman Mao.

To fish out one’s heart to feed dogs,

to slice one’s flesh to feed eagles,

is to keep living for oneself and others,

to become a man left only with bones.

One must not fear death

to plunge headlong into negative thought and stay there.

One must not fear death

to stroll toward the end of the sky.