In a Taxi
Dong-gu is trying to keep his face shielded by the overhead mirror, but the bright light keeps hitting his eyes. He squints, accentuating the wrinkles that begin in the corners and sprawl across his face like route lines on maps, and his view is momentarily dimmed. He opens them wide again to watch
out of sync
maybe we’ll come together again in the neighbourhood coffee shop that stands at the edge of feeling and maybe we’ll know what we want – the smells of fried bread, cooking oil, and overripe fruit blending into each other as my eye
Crawling Order
forget about hands and knees– his chest is on the ground. he is flattening himself like sourdough naan as men in hats stand sentinel and impatient. this procedure takes all day he is heaving his bones–elbows bear the weight of stomach, ribcage, legs for the distance of one hundred and fif
