elite
athletes inject
strong steroids which mistreat
our trust; must we now redirect
respect?
************************
Recently, the doping allegations surrounding swimmer Park Tae-hwan have been a hot topic of conversation in the Korean news.
http://www.koreatimesus.com/effort-to-protect-park-tae-hwan-from-doping-allegations-slipping/
난 라디오 음악에 맞춰 노래하면서 손가락으로
헝클어진 머리를 빗는다.
먼 곳에 천둥소리가 다시 들린다
꽃들은 이야기를 그만뒀다.
이제…비가 온다.
I comb my tangled hair with my fingers
while singing along to the radio.
Again, thunder is heard in the distance.
The flowers have ceased talking.
Now…the rain comes.
Somewhere, but not here,
you stand with me amidst the
sangria stars of Biseulsan
in a season of surging.
With sealed eyes we attend to the
coordinated calls of gaudy magpies.
Hovering harbingers fill us with fear for
we do not understand their warning.
Then, you begin to sing Albert’s song.
His words are stitched into your mouth
yet you still stumble upon the shore.
I do not understand your warning.
I reach for your hand, but find you gone again,
soaring far and wide in search of glittering orbs.
yearly
bitter combat
has just about nearly
deprived that despicable Rat
of fat
Down come the marigolds
upon my bare head.
Perhaps it is time to sleep.
An inquisitive ladybug creeps
over my left thumb, itching
for a late lunch.
We are both famished.
My shell has cracked wide
open yet I remain inside,
awaiting the revelation.
And so the afternoon continues.
make like the morning
and fly to the west,
till your fine wide wings
detect their own nest
minute
by minute we
resolve not to commit
to change which would let us truly
be free
That blanket that spins in the drum
bears secrets that only my lips
are longing for. As the washer hums
and grunts, the lavender strips
of cloth underneath my fingers sigh
when the brush strikes them with fury.
He chose to sidestep these empty eyes.
Now I stand, blanketed in worry.
———–
edited after initial posting
Flowing through the
thickest water to get
back home.
stone by stone
head by head
The conductor says
that
I’ve been left behind.
At least I saw her smile.
Do you know what the
slap of stale breath
against cotton at 4:18
in the morning sounds
like?
12 hours of parceled sighs
packed and planned in
a head
so full of nothing that
it would make you scream
to the sky for the offense
of it all.
Sleep was never the answer.
sundry folly 