“Soon, lunch
for the children,”
Ma squawked with cheerful punch,
while beheading a husky hen
for ten.
강창역/Gangchang Station
Light streams into an open sitting area at Gangchang Station in Daegu/South Korea
In the Swale
A conspiratorial, oily thumb and
forefinger crush yellowed, coarse
paper–page four hundred thirty
seven–fluttering in anticipation,
perceiving imminent movement
within its constricted fibers. Protein
gives tastes differently enough,
collapsing into sapped midnight
mouths, red long gone.
And so it was deciphered as that
hovering and absolute monarch,
harnessed in a gauzy gray doublet,
leered down at us…we, who only
shine half as brightly.
No Thank You
Tart scarlet thunderbolts, anchored to
onion perfumed lace, weigh down a
lonely table, already burdened
by glass shards and dirt.
Two for tea
One for coffee
None for breakfast
Going For A Swim
Looking into a small temple pond in Kyoto, Japan
PRAYER IN THE DARK
In the time of the butterflies,
before lush grapes turned sour,
aged trees shook in unison,
fearful of what might pass.
Elders with low, ferocious
voices murmured, then shouted
until they howled under a
caliginous canopy, woven from
smoke and anise seed, rising in
anger only to fall upon a traitorous
ground. Needle noses prepare to
pierce trembling flesh that may
still be perspiring in dimples of
wounded earth.
Bare is this weeping land, divested
of its plentitude, beneath our
incompetent hands–hoping and
praying that those pale peach, hazelnut
wraiths will find their way home.
새우살 판매/Shrimp for Sale
A Daegu woman prepares a package of what I believe are small shrimp (I wasn’t close enough to know for sure) for a customer/South Korea
Cinquain/LXII
Oh Love,
do be silent,
for, there, prowling above
this den, is the spy who was sent
from Kent
비둘기 쫓기/Pigeon Chasing
A young boy chases pigeons on the grounds of the Gwangju Museum of Art/South Korea
DOWN
Fall silent and away
a sweeping nightstick on
your slanting back.
Fall silent, voice upon voice, stamped
out near withering cigarettes, in exchange
for second-hand teardrops, cracked yet
functional, and stale baguettes.
In this way, the martyrs of our age
pave peaked avenues, gaunt as sunlight,
with unmoving, garnet throats.
sundry folly 