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Jan 09, 2009
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strange china (dream)
I have been adopted by a short Chinese man
who wears a robe made of toilet paper that
is thick. He introduces me to a few members
of his family, all of whom live in
a dimly lit bathhouse. The water is steamy
but hard to feel: the steam is somehow more
relevant. He has adopted me because
of the 'big words' I know. He imagines
I have some noble destiny. i never see his
face entirely. "ism's" really impress him.
He introduces me to a woman stuck to the
ground on all fours by sticky green scales
that nearly cover her eyes, and she smiles
at me indifferently. She breathes like
a machine or a sputtering diesel engine
politely dying. The water creaks in and
out of her mouth with a kind of gelatin
fatigue. The walls are a chipped beige
copper. While I refuse to look underwater,
he tells me (and I know) that an extending
aluminum dragon is underneath the water,
also copper and fatigued. The sound of the
dragon breathing is mechanized, the creaking
like a garbage disposal or a steel boat
tipping. There may be a wet recorder
made of battered nails, discolored, playing
this sound deep in the dragon's mouth.
who wears a robe made of toilet paper that
is thick. He introduces me to a few members
of his family, all of whom live in
a dimly lit bathhouse. The water is steamy
but hard to feel: the steam is somehow more
relevant. He has adopted me because
of the 'big words' I know. He imagines
I have some noble destiny. i never see his
face entirely. "ism's" really impress him.
He introduces me to a woman stuck to the
ground on all fours by sticky green scales
that nearly cover her eyes, and she smiles
at me indifferently. She breathes like
a machine or a sputtering diesel engine
politely dying. The water creaks in and
out of her mouth with a kind of gelatin
fatigue. The walls are a chipped beige
copper. While I refuse to look underwater,
he tells me (and I know) that an extending
aluminum dragon is underneath the water,
also copper and fatigued. The sound of the
dragon breathing is mechanized, the creaking
like a garbage disposal or a steel boat
tipping. There may be a wet recorder
made of battered nails, discolored, playing
this sound deep in the dragon's mouth.
Comments
Arrow
17 years 4 months ago
I agree with your idea about the roots of poems.