Life

If i should weep as a weeping willow in
life, yet, a nursing mother's breast would
be gnawed into the bone.

So, gift me a diamond nail, and shatter
every mirror, with a shiny finger, still,
could i simulate a finch beak or bowel?

O! Life, I'm done yanking my sky off your
slimy dusks, flick me yon with your tiny
thumb, even to the land of figs, then chain
my feet to a time-worn plinth, verily,
I would dance with the fire, and the sea.