Résumé / Michael Kwack

Love is, like art,

dull without passion.

Marriage is, like enterprise,

vain without fortune.

Home is, like a chair,

awkward without comfort.

Life is, like sleep,

hollow without a dream.

Death* is, like a letter,

absurd without a story.

  *Death means suicide.

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Play in the Night

                      --Michael Kwack

From two o’clock

When owls hoot

Up to four when cocks crow

Surely I will be kept awake,

To watch the secret play

Of the conscious and unconscious.

However, I will not see

The queer performance inside me

As a mere dream in the night.

If I long for better plays,

More will I wander dur...

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Was it true,

sleep depends on tears?

To refill the well

that had dried up by day,

Or to wet the lids, at the least,

by dreaming sad dreams,

With that tearful hope,

had the sleep come by night?

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