from The Hell of That Star

Procession

Like an old and large bookshelf, page by page
seemingly torn down
Like a single mulberry tree pitter patters
dropping mulberry leaves
Like murals buried by time, dusting off
little by little  
Past lives go walking

Drink a sip of water and
when a past life’s woman dies in the shade of a mulberry tree
drink a sip of alcohol and
this world’s me is under one layer of soil today and now

An old and large bookshelf is torn down and
one mural all exposed
The drunk me looks at the me in the drawing
as though indifferent

That past life’s woman held close in her hands
a peach like a young daughter
When she dies
I’ll carry an empty sack
It’s war, it’s war
Under an old and large bookshelf
again I am going to hide



 
Madame Sun Eating Van Gogh Eating

The full fields that are boiling
cut a few slices in the barley field road
Sunflower seeds splashed and
rice paddle’s whirwhirring
The rust-colored stew
Van Gogh’s meal preparation 

His brain marrow breaking,
puhlpuhling like a cauldron as time sifts
a violently boiling swirl
the full field with the rice paddle
that makes hands waver wildly
The skull’s skyless boiling up
with Van Gogh’s head of a lid open
In the age of boiling noodles
Madame Sun’s meal preparation


 

Democracy on the Edges of Dong-gu

The person who is bigger when further
who stands beyond the vanishing point 
and swells up like an ad balloon
Having no substance and
still being a big mass
the person who eats up
missing and
feeling sorrow and regret and
longing whole
Getting bigger every day
the person an oversized silhouette 
pressing me lower
squeezing a pack full
of tears and organs

If holding who is there and not there
rolling around you find

The person who swells like a mountain
peak when the morning sun breaks


 

Mom’s Meal Preparation

It is said it was after father’s bomb exploded

It was baking
like in a microwave
fat splattering and rising and
sparks splattering and
skin burning
On one side skin hanging rag-like from a skeleton
was standing inside fire
Mashed also like a tomato
pressed against a huge stone
until smashed like tofu
As the stomach pop-pop exploded
there was the smelling of stench
The whole field
without knowing who was coming to eat
was painted in tears as
it was being fried

Mother swallowed her tears as she prepared the meal

 


The Hell of That Star

The tomb is here
below two mounds hanging from the chest
The place where people from centuries ago are still
buried and breathing
Like the moon rises and the moon sets in the sea
under two tombs
where the dead ones gather
to unfold and spread the vast sea,
the pouting moon raised and pulled by
the edges of the girl’s body, its deep palace
within a palace another new world where
the darkness of centuries ago is still
trapped and bleeding
The place that stretches
when the crescent moon rises
The place where snakes kiss snakes and
the green grass tree vines are revived
and rolled over thousands of times
The hell of that star is here



 
After All the Birds Have Gone

Tough after all
we who still remain
just by gathering it is lovingly
even while building each other’s tombs
even while patting each other’s backs

When each one turns around
both arms tight! Opening
across and embracing what
I do not even recognize as my grave
I hug and hold harder and harder
lay the sleeping mat and lay the blanket, stretching four limbs out
I love you I love you even in my sleep
In this world from which crying birds disappear
only I am left