A White Ox walks over the speaking moon.
An angry soul stands under the weeping tree.
A birch king, lost his red tongue cut in half,
Goes back to the cave where a bear lady waits no more.
O Jack, you can lay tones of humane Samsara causation
Off the new democratic people, who always whimper
Their hungry desires, more & more for their umbras.
God only knows he’s not a Jack of all trades or destinies.
O Let’s pray the king could toss away his pine cane soon
To wave a new scepter before he yields to ulcerated cells.
Angels could show him the way to the Palace before the sunset.
My fellow, arise and push off to bask on the sea before too late.
You know the sun is still green and fresh for a New Day Party.
Even they twist your chicken neck, the new dawn will brighten up!
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