Chen-ou Liu, CA
the chime
recites my poem caught by a summer breeze
my poem fluttering against autumn gusts
a 7-11 store in Chinatown time is a passing guest of
Yukon
gazing upon hairy bamboo sheaths girls giggle
winds howling ghostly pasts embrace the empty moon
Shenzhen workers lining up ants hurry westwards
gazing upon the newborn poem I trace its birthmark with
my nose
cutting the cord I let my poem breathe alone
the poem screams at me, The author is dead
I dream of the poem taking refuge at my breasts
