he was desperate: too in love with the madness in his soul that came with applause and with people laughingsmilinglaughing at him; the concerts halls smoked up with the devil and the afterparties full of hands clapping his shoulders because it was only him making it. and he had carved immorality into the drug-sick swaying… Continue reading poem: seungri, burning sun
Tag: orginal writing
poem: i swear i’m not neurotic, i just have control issues.
she sat alone; men are formulas with no answer, with no reason, and she can lay things out nicely in her head, but hit /run program/ and it is errorerrorerrorerror. they are laughing at her; they are laughing at her when she goes into the room, when she goes to the front of the room,… Continue reading poem: i swear i’m not neurotic, i just have control issues.
poem: they told the girl
they told the girl: you are not going anywhere, you are going to sit in the dark for the rest of your sorry sad life. you are just like a balkan rat, boring out the eyes of your kin, hissing and scratching and screaming in the night, and all the little children, their lacy bare… Continue reading poem: they told the girl
poem: the human glory of political economics
there are times when I am fascinated by politics and the rollicking play of the market is a sort of sweet drug, made into a gladiator fight between the two colored corners of this universe, rushing always into bright contact and history falling away in the process as little glass pieces for children to pick… Continue reading poem: the human glory of political economics
poem: my mother has done everything
She is two-stepping in an Arizona bar with some old-timer, the walls hung with adobe, tassels, turquoise bracelets for sale and the stereo bleeding out early 90's country-folk. The Indians at the bar are leaning in, stoically awed by the way this city girl already has the West in her eyes. She will not… Continue reading poem: my mother has done everything
poem: sex ed. from camelot
When I was younger, I spent some ten or so breathless hours lying on an unmade bed, grey sky clamped above me: I was reading one of my mother's books from college, those years when she went through her pagan stage and believed in abortion and Earth Mothers. The legacy of that is kept on… Continue reading poem: sex ed. from camelot
poem: 미국 사람, 한국 사람 (or, No More Dream)
the girl knows oppa and saranghae but if you showed it to her, like: 오빠 or 사랑해 she would not know how to make those odd lines of man, earth, sky into the bright music that she sings in the dark. She knows 김 is said as "Kim," because it's the beginning part to names… Continue reading poem: 미국 사람, 한국 사람 (or, No More Dream)
poem: to those beautiful kdrama anti-heroes
He probably has a plain black baseball cap (where do people even buy those?) and one of those pollution masks that are so vogue in smogged-up asia; or if it's a historical drama, he definitely has black bangs over his eyes, and probably a bit of a scar and (of course) beautiful dark eyes, lightly… Continue reading poem: to those beautiful kdrama anti-heroes
poem: nostalgia, not contrived
the girl sat in her english class and watched the sky flatten itself against the university window, like even the clouds are desperate to get in and learn critical theory. she pulls her sweater over her fingers and silently sulkily puts an earbud in so she can listen to japanese indie and feel like a… Continue reading poem: nostalgia, not contrived
poem: what do i call this
I guess I don't need to talk to him because I already know everything he would say. I know when he would roll his eyes, and that I would laugh; and I remember the few times I was charming enough to make him laugh; he threw back his head, all of his pretention going up… Continue reading poem: what do i call this
the last pavilion 