Bright & early she goes to Hyeopjae Beach (before dawn)
…The deplorable amount of rubbish
—balled up paper cups with mushy fag butts
& phlegm | a gondae ajeossi in expensive pastel golf clothes
stood outside the 7/11 smoking 1 fag after
another | never finishing a whole one
before dropping it in front of him to smolder & stink |
or dropping it into the dregs of his sweet mix-coffee
—gobs fat globes of spit beside the fags
which pools | enough to wash a bird.
“Welcome to Hyeopjae beach”
dawn on a Saturday in mid-August.
It hasn’t rained enough already
& the humidity makes vegetation look narcoleptic
—small tee-pees of sesame drying on pavements |
which usually starts about the beginning of September
—you know what this means | don’t you?
Regardless…The air salty as fish n’ chips.
I’ll swim in the ocean | just float
like a plastic bag resembling a jelly fish |
think myself granular like shoals of anchovy bursting apart
—I am a singing bowl’s hum | an ornate paper fan
with herons landing in cool water painted on one side
—a parasol released into the wind |
a school boy infatuation | erasing equations |
close as can be to weightless
—I think nothing for a while…
Until…The eschatological battery of Pansori
—a dramatic finale of worlds in the purse of an old lady.
“It’s easier to remember pain
than it is to remember a scent…”