A Small Village

In that small village Behind the bamboo front Where the small heart Made of bamboo leaves Smokes its cigars Through its roof Stands a young old man Whose twisting cheeks And biceps and triceps Turns outside inwards Looking up the berry plant Yawning at the fruit unripe His own body pillars Whose frail body bends Can’t stand the size The wait and load above it As he tries to climb the berry He falls and lies still