fried pancakes
bicycle lanes
red taxis, dented and dusty.
cracked sidewalks, grey asphalt
construction cranes, dust.
mid-noon sun. scorching.
haircuts, hutongs.
yogurt in china bottles.
blue tops, straws,
skewers, spicy oil boiling,
one kuai bills,
chairman mao’s smiling face,
his beauty spot.
expats, blonde haired blue eyed backpackers,
sanlitun alleys, bars,
fake alcohol, kamikazes, b52s,
nanjie, bartenders,
heels, skinny legs,
girls, girls. drag queens,
kfcs and mcdonalds lining the streets,
jay chou posters,
bargaining with store owners,
new malls, zara,
lamb skewers, flip flops in the summer
Beijing dust.
international schools, local schools
cotton polyester blue white
sweatshirt uniforms.
cut hair, glasses, tests,
chalk, blackboard, aluminum trays,
school lunch. instant noodles,
supermarkets, smoked meats,
chips, perfume,
compounds, guards, ayis,
English, Chinese, Korean, Finnish.
buses that talk.
subway entrances with new doors,
fancy ticket machines.
people,
people,
people pushing, butting in line,
cursing, smoking,
squatting,
living.
Beijing.

Thinking About Special K

The distance between us, I think
is giddy.
I can see your Converse-clad feet.
(I want to brush my hand against yours.)

What are you writing there?
a triplet, an alexandrine
a meter between us.
(Come a little closer baby.)

Hey your eyes are kind of dark
your lines are kind of hard
for this kind of poetry.
(Well you’re pretty pretty sexy.)

But this is my pen,
and this is my paper
and this is my fantasy.
(So this is how I’ll write you.)

And I’ll build a country
I’ll build a garden
I’ll build a castle—
(I’ll make a king out of you.)