With a Bridge and a War

Why not puff and blow fair winds?
Storms raised by the cheeks of beasts
Like you are just good for laughs.

You can’t make up your mind, and
Why should you when mind makes up
You? As far as straight talk goes,

It’s fun how it seems to flow
Right from the head of the beast,
As if the words weren’t all old.

They say that each breath of air
Holds a bit of gas breathed in
Once by some great, long-lost soul,

Pick a name—King Tut, Zhuang Zi—
Who do you like that you know?
The same goes for all your words.

You want to be sharp? Stern judge?
Blow hard. Words aren’t yours. We’re old.
Might as well blow fair, you know.