A finger’s width above
fast over the wavelets
resolute in its course
flies the cormorant

Monk-like in rain gear
half hidden behind walls
they are up to something

Too early for the corner stores – no milk
an open bakery   look over the sweets
3 loaves of yesterday’s bread   buy one   2000 won

Cold rain numbs my cheeks
stiffens my fingers
wettens into my long underwear

I lust for a pot
of mulled Bulgarian wine
vapor of alcohol & clove

But I would probably drink several
swagger out
put those bossy fucking kachis in their place
demand folk stop bowing
answer   why all these walls
topped off in broken glass  barbed wire
piss-off whoever's piss-offable
rave in tongues at these stupid elements

Why does the cormorant never soar?

 

(Part of a longer work, Cheonsa-po Pieces)

 

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