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
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