Showing posts from December 11, 2005

The Hanok Fields

there's another country buried here
in the ground under all this snow -

i can see it in the rice field rows
how the white flakes make them look

like the flat plane of hanok rooves
& as if some long-departed designer

(maybe even king sejong) had seen it
just this way & thought (in all of

this order i smell yin & yang merge
white moon above the dim bird below

the empty furrows coated like tiles
& here i will make my sweeping arcs

their exponential gentleness (earth
a dragon emerges every springtime to

pounce upon their ancestors' burial
mounds (but for now they too remain

cloaked in snow - like turtle shells
awaiting another frozen invasion ...

there's another country buried here
in the ground under all this snow -

i see it in the perfect hanok fields
another place for my mind to grow

Sound of Vitality

It's the sound of a whipcrack,
(whiplash on the windswept road

It's the sound of reed engines
(engine reels & carburettors

It's the sound of a small purr
(purrpure lubricants that whirr

It's the sound of exploded cans
(canplode diode transmissions

It's the sound of pine whispers
(pinepanic at the smell of snow

It's the sound of radio burning
(radiospherical planetoid buzz

It's the sound of dim mechanics
(dim stars on a shadowed orbit

It's the sound of transplants
(plantlungs panting for daylight

It's the sound of beige burrs
(burrpools rotating mindlessly

It's the sound of abstract drills
(drilldown to the rotten old core

It's the sound of puncture hums
(humdrums split like the rapeseed

It's the sound of modest tools
(foolswept into the convex blades

PC Bang Signage (48)


PC Bang Signage (47)


Back To the Tourist III

you better run, squirrel ...

destinations detonate like
the coyote on acme or speed
my runners wear thin again
- it's time to go back to
the tourist (iii) troubles
i've seen em (stacked them
high lived them low better
clear out of this saloon &
hope a time machine comes
soon ... sitting inside a
pentagon (shooting aliens
is more fun than it looks
send home an ordinary book
hear the killer drone it's
a shoelace they've untied
forgotten homework inside
a locker full of pin-ups &
baseball pendants at home
in the brochured suburb i
took a spin in the rhyme
machine pedalling madly
just to make these hours
swim in buckets shortened
calls - the snowy breezes
& the freshly paved street
sheets of burning rubber
castle motels conventions
buses without destinations

PC Bang Signage (46)