Wednesday, April 27, 2011

not like that, like this

( 1985 )

somewhere over the pacific
between incheon and jfk
i inhaled thin white wisps of exhaust
deep enough to stain.

( 20 11 )

the flesh rotted
to bleached bones
i splash through a shallow puddle of yellow.

here, spring falls at an alarming rate
my arms cross over an empty network of face
feigning sorry for speech
china blows in
exact fortunes of the weather.

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