Round Shapes

I will write my last poem,
I will drink three gulps of sake
and will stand up happy and clean
before the pure and permanent light
of my sharp-forged sword.
Then I’ll rip myself open,
I’ll tear my bowels with my sword,
and that’ll be the end
of my last poem.
I will appease my anger so,
my anger and my sin,
so I’ll regain
my fallen honour.
Then you’ll read my poem,
my last poem:
”Woe to those who want
to live in the souls of others
and woe to those afraid
to amend God’s matters.”