Almanac
Blood tone flood tone
woods over-swarmed with description
starless riotous woods
writhing not with wolf nor lion.
Writhed with guides who emerged
with their chromatic lore
paved arteries hotels grease-shined
with locals we guide guide
I am crammed with tongues crammed
with guides who ache for their own
guides who mourn who lead
men from human rinds of discontent,
shuttle mutiny stench and swelter
Aborigine who leads vested men through
stream snake brush who gust
shave your hair ulcerate your nemesis
guide to spectral love to animal behavior
to coitus in a hot tub
a cherry tour bus skidded overturned
travelers shimmied out in droves while
inflammable gases blushed out
fish lens porn bushel of mustard spices
2nd world auto dealers rotisserie roar
of champagne volcanoes
I paddle down the bodies with an oar's
thwack the storage of migrants kept
under gouting stream
Is that gun fire? Rat-a-tat?
What cadaverous blooms? Faces smear
against my windshield crying
we will tar you with birds
Succor soon yassir a fleet of skiffs
zigzag paths look here to sylvan arroyo
flattened tonsil woods break off
into series coma
Oh radiant lives
all guides
all beautiful erroneous
unison.
The Hula Hooper's Taunt
I'mma a two-ton spiker hips fast rondeau
N'ere more, nay sayer feel this orbit rattle
Wipe that prattle that spittle crass pupa
Gupta away you ma' man,
where you revolving solving
spin shorty shark satellitic fever
Leer not, lyre I spiral atom pattern
Faster than you say my turn.
Elegy
Such poisonous families
I startle. Alarum, the feudal world.
Plow the oil rig and plum blossom fields, the fields where they danced half-ring, the
aorta mortuary fields. The fields. If not for
the field here, there are
animal wanderings.
My father watched he watched
outside the window he saw he saw
the comet streak klieg-light the setting light the world parcels off into mindless.
Trees in essence flagrant assonance
I suck back into my mouth.
I am this chair, talking to him,
if the burden is to go back.
The world parcels off into seepage, capillary tea-bags he said, he said I must work, I said
I had no dreams that night.
But allure the shoe-polished twilight,
brunt flotilla of stars
this minus store amid the fields,
amid the blight amid
the cold ball-bearing I yearn,
for you who lastly fueled breathing this air this air.
(c) 2007 Cathy Park Hong. All rights reserved.
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