Back to Yoon Yong, now nearing the end. We found Yoon Yong last time, riffing on marriage. Now she’s drunk.
Drink to forget (maybe Sunday)
…That evening | walking down a busy road | enjoying
the cool air discouraging the heat of the day
but never quenching it & flanked
by orange groves | in the drainage ditch
near a dark culvert | a pig skeleton | bleached
& patched with mold | patina of pine needles
& a chocolate bar wrapper caged in the ribs |
pocked with crow pecks | the pelvis snapped free
of the spine | the cranium dented & cracked
—this was important once: it fed someone |
brought happiness & people communed around it
for warmth & comfort.
A tabby cat’s bright eyes fed by the dark | she makes
a pppppphhhsssssss to frighten it away
from the bleached bones that belong to her figure of speech
—I’ve always hated cats | I identify
all my worst characteristics with them
& in my rebellion | in my misguided
effort to stem their effect | I have translated
them into the feline’s tarty motive & motion
: a hodgepodge transference.
I’m no better than people with a deep seated fear of dogs |
the roots of which are the will to conquer nature.
Groups of girls | dressed in their own clothes
which amounts to a uniform
“somehow talk at length without saying anything.
—technology has arranged the world in such
a fashion that you don’t have to experience it...”