/A poem under the impression of Astral Projection, using jammed syntax and structure as a medium of panic... 이태원과 선생님께 바칩니다: 서가./

Eyes closed,

a sharp breath.

Now in the white shoes of my Korean Teacher-

among the crowds...

in Itaewon.

In scarce weather, trapped in prayer, the Neon and Halogen glow now halos of angels for all soul's day, In Itaewon. Seams and hems of clothes, clashing like dominoes, souls rising from Seoul,

narrowing

throats

and

narrowing

roads,

while heaven widened its gates above Itaewon. Wrists twisting twice, toes stepped on thrice, peeling our skin & breaths thin- with postures pronouncing: splatter!

For the bones were water- and the flesh were waves, and Death was a sailor casting nets & graves & I was screaming with a hook on my mouth: Let me out! Let me out! Let me out! God!

Then I went back south...

In the openness of the mountain city...

Where there was no electricity to blind me...

like the streets in Itaewon.

And I let the wrath of Paeng embrace me,

and lull me back to sleep,

pillow wet with tears-

Red shoes scattered,

In Itaewon.

In scarce weather, trapped in prayer. A sharp breath, eyes closed.