Regarding the future the donkey contemplates after this century
What sort of century will come then
How will the donkey's ears be useful
Will poetry be peacefully prosperous or
Hang on to the ears of hell panting burning fiercely the fire of energy that
Rides the rising air current
Gods ease the discontent of those who call themselves absolute
Buddha closed his eyes a little while ago
I am not sleeping I am contemplating
The sculptor says every time he gets drowsy
And he wakes up without fail by looking at a beautiful woman
And screams that Flowers bloom in this world but
The donkey opens a hole in the ant hill looking
Everyone plugs their ears reading their own sutras inside many layered enclosures
Gradually becoming ants gradually becoming soil
Begins to hear a god like voice from somewhere
Saying what is called the future is
Not yet loaded onto your back