terms of the alchemic contract are clearly stated,
French vote shadows any mentality changing attempt.
broke the bottle with the past loves, threw the black horse’s picture
in formalin unwonted the egotistic sad eyes of my relatives and left
wonder, like me, what’s the good of it?,
the candle further,
leave the Kajuraho erotic temples in the souvenir bowl to dint my bone
never been to
to fight with the Muslims, nor have I copy pasted the
bridges on my back pockets.
that’s OK, coz
Iteawon cans with Western air stored in oriental medicine cabinets
sale at high prices and a wink from a GI.
corrupted politicians flowing down the Han river
compensate for the delayed EU integration.
to type faster, I beg for your patience.
offer you a green tea to help you swallow the hanjas
perhaps, an arirang aria would wash away your daily worries.
Yesterday, I have been again to Jongmyo- royal ancestral shrine,
through the vapors of soju raising from the old men guarding
the huge reddish gate.
turn this page, don’t avoid the slaves’ pavilion
pleasure giver to the king in the long winter nights-
don’t forget to take a picture of the monument built on his placenta.
anxious fingers left little holes in the paper doors
recorded in the chronicle together with the king’s trips to the woods
the toilets hadn’t been invented yet.
help but notice you finished your green tea…
probably nostalgic, you would like me to accompany you back to
Renaissance or to a closer bus station to meet Werther’s Lotte.
we could be there in a second, down the Shillim street
lights will point to the Louis Viton bags and Ferragamo shoes.
cute actor, what’s his name?– Kwon san O -with a whitening mask
advertising cosmetics in the shop windows,
phones in the corner
re-buy your soul moth-eaten by the consumerist society
second floor, near the Chinese restaurant there is a church.
show you the way to Kwon san O, but the disguising sunglasses don’t do
me any good and I am still taken for a Russian prostitute in search of