| He knots not the river Laughs with wild deer Flaneur of the moon He fills a sink with cement Destroys beds Melts diamonds in the snow He is the son He is the fever Veins putrid with silver He runs fingers by roses Blood mirrors tattered with lace Bubbles of hermes soap He is a curtain The plastic bag floating past strange balconies Ship of dead cells He names white explosions Liquid heated by spheres Surfaces radiant He knots not the river He is a tree, he lives! Ghost for the vacant room Terence Koh Published in Hotel V, 2007 |