《剪头发》/ "Haircut"

The follicles wave gently through the air,
Brushing my neck and forcing my recall
Of burdening presentation or flair:
It has become my time to face the fall.
Wisps ethereal wafting blue, pink, white
From iron strands that chain me to the world
Containing my leap from twisted play to flight,
Among the clouds, where oft the elders twirled.
My mind traces its spheres, graceless, eternal
Of grief most tragic and bitter weltschmerz,
Committing blocking to lines infernal.
Before I speak the lights blocked by the curts.
I hold the scissors, seen right before me.
I wait. Now, I shake gory locks at thee.