The Untold Stories

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Our flesh is hectic and heretic
Burning in the torch of our evolution
Our wombs are wild fruit
Ready to curve and churn and reap
Our fevers have not renounced
Our heart has not tasted lunch
I am the starved and curveless moon
I am skin and bone and loveless lessons
My body is a probe of dream
Ready to burst ribs and ejaculate
To sensually encapsulate descendents
And warm the wide waves of evermore
Our flesh is hot with snippets of sweat
Our blood is tainted and anorexic
Our hope is in the body, in the children
Primal like a tattoo of our youthful selves
These days are done, the drums have gone
Our breasts are shrived like the autumn leaves
And our past pain lies now in our hips
The hips we will break one careless evening
And we won’t grow up then, we will
Die in a hospital in the forked dark.

Just Reinventing Moments

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We, it’s we, we are the torn soul
Of an ugly urban neighbourhood at dusk
We have become stars and moths
The moths of stars, hardly ready

To slant light around till fruit
We are windows of yellow butter
Women leaning to catch children
We breed for brittle moments

And run and let the stars rise
We let the moths flutter
And we taste the baked apples sweeter in the dark
Is this all we are,
Trivial open buds ready to
Ginger our colors like flavours of forever

Forever repeating in ripe bodies
Ready to be taken, age and die
We are moments never realized
Cities never truly young
Cultures always debating
The meaning of dawns, time, orchids.


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Eun Ji, why is this life a workhouse?

We are quarantined in our little lives

While the freezing stars never arrived

We are cold of being hungry for something

We cannot name, toxins from the whole history

Read to implode in who we have become

Because we have let the world become like this?

There aren’t love poems that can break this threshold

And there aren’t people who can get through to me

Eun Ji, when the worst hour of the worst season

Of our lives came, was anyone there?

There is no place safe from the merciless inventory

Of time, I’ve seen them all drop dead and leave

Like lonely years where winter doesn’t have a name

I’ve felt the quarantine of immortality, and the blessed

Relief of change, these temporary moments

Cannot hope enough, to save the world

And we are stuck getting ready for oblivion.