Yi Sang & Michael Joseph Walsh
July 2016
The house will be delighted
To explain what it is that I love —
That the only good flower is able to laugh —
To sleep
In a cycle of innocence —
Where inside there is a place — For everything —
To lean against, depend upon —
Inadequate devil — Even in the mirror
The world is — As if cupped
In the palm of Nature’s — Nothing —
Glossy, lustrous, bright —
Being inclement — From inside of my chest
In the official version the torn
Wallpaper fills
The lake — The house — Is inside me my ears
Understand — The only good flower’s — Skin, flesh
Mostly on the whole a cold knife — Unable to self —
I might — Be a farm — Just north of the river —
Helpless more than words
Blooms on the sandy bottom — Butterfly
Wings — But after all — The house is —
A mothership —
Withers in the dark – Where no word arises —
And in this it is like — My mirror —
Even in the mirror it’s not true
Until the sound is — Specified —
Therefore I English
English — When I want to grow
Inside there is a place — Which most resembles it —
Toothy rain
And nothing to wear — In the middle of the day —
An invisible flower forgets
To leak —
Are you shaking — Or do you not want a small deposit
In the mirror with nothing nice —
Out of my hand it was probably not
Visible — At all, however, how/what/why
On earth a small wound
Opens
In the dark I found I was carrying
My function — To forget — To sleep
And then to say that you are my nurse — The required blood
Blooms from hand to mouth
In the mirror as if the mirror was — For once in my life — A handshake —
Helpless
And fragrant all my life I’ve wanted
When asked a question to sleep
And no doubt I thought to mention it because — It explodes
Along the skin — And inclement — You resemble me
In the world of the mirror in full bloom sudden
Poverty in wartime the calendar
Means everything — And in the mirror even now I’m careful — Not to laugh —
To see the wallpaper
Torn up in the world of the mirror —
It does not seem to hurt — To surrender the face of the house —
Breathing — In the dark there is no sound —
Arises — Because of me — So wrought
In the grave and never
Seen since —
The desire — To wake —
A genius of quiet —
Sounds explosive and — Splashing my heart —
The butterfly feeds — The world inside
The mirror comes — Of age — A well-
Deserved face gold tooth in your mouth —
And not to appear — In flowering
Smoke says the voice — Of prevailing face
In full bloom — And inclement —
To shine for them —
To stand on a single — Hardened beam
Of manna churning the modal heart —
But what can I do —
Even in the mirror you are going to find me —
Songs in the daytime landscape performs
The world and calls it
Flower —
We will remember —
At the cliff’s edge — The death of what I mean —
Sleek, lustrous — Boundary line helpless and savage —
As possession
Pricks the skin — Is my father— In the mirror
Nursing a desire to wake —
To fold — To be folded
Under the skin where I all but English —
Where I inhale as a person should —The (tide) water —
My trusty dreams — Long since replaced —
And nothing to wear in a cycle
Of quiet — The house shines — A small wound
Is genius and later the voice — By force to not
Appear again — And then to say that you are — My mirror —
Fragrant at the cliff’s edge —
My ear is
A mirror yet alive —As you can laugh — The tide
Water laps the hill — The day breathes
In my mirror I am
The fold that one calls ‘pleasure’ —
On the edge of a cliff you do not
Hear anything about
‘Character and conduct’ — The face of the house sprouts
Witness — The heart flies off —
Inhales — This day a cold knife
In which my name does not
Awake — A naked eye —
The secret
Bleating when the ship sees
Land — Droops green
And forgotten —
Thereby to develop an approximate
English —
And wet the better to fly —
My phoenix carried out again —
With no sound the day you burned —
And this time careful not
To leak when asked
A question — The mother is not to say which
Is left-handed, for example —
Possessive pity
Becomes the barn —
And then to sneak into the space inside —
Where you touch me —
You can laugh —
In the dark like a newborn
Baby it’s not really
Time enough to reproduce —
On the cliff’s edge for example —
To meet the mirror image
In a cage to fold to be —
A laugh long since and more
To being a face — A single person —
To open
Here under the skin to provide —
Usage —
By nature in flowering smoke —
To be raised, brought up — Speaking in full
Swing still looking like I’m —
In love