Trying to die, I started to dance,
So, today is the day I meet the tiger.
It can’t be helped if he devours me.
I don’t even mind if we copulate.
We may also stab each other.
Hanging with shreds of bitten-off flesh,
I shall leap into the empty sky.
The moment I throw my body,
I grasp another form.
There is no other way to live,
as if my other self,
my double, engenders further doubles.
From this dying body,
diverse other selves that can
only be called awkward
are made, flare up, and then scatter.
As they catch the memory of the unknown,
they distribute unevenly, flow irregularly;
there is no distinction between the border of any single one.
It is as if they might disappear, everywhere.
Can we, as finite process
as finite ephemeral life
live in infinite ways?