Lying in a room surrounded by white walls
like sleeping in a cocoon where
you stretch your arms upwards
making a flying posture
The butterfly outside the window
is seeking for the flower dreamed of
In the sky of red cloud heaped up
a silver plane passes through
You imagine the falling petals in pieces
Under the showerhead
water snuggles the skin
like the dew on the leaves
White bathtub
a white rose blooms quietly
The white painted window lattice
The white veil curtain pulled down
The door is red
but not a single spark even you strike a match
The sharp sound of car knocks at the door
You close your lips, not saying a word
There is only one person in the audience
and one dancer on stage
Poetry writing is a form of self-entertainment
as glamorous as ice
Fire is looking for an internal breakthrough
Man is blocked by various barriers
Even shaking hands and smiling
the heart is far away
Although the red exclamation mark is still on reference notes
the actor often forgets his line