the soup changes its flavour

To Derek Choy

long after they turn off the lights
I sit in my blighted oasis

i preach to the birds
torn into pisces  I write

 "gun! boo! tree! door!
  bye! eclair! succumb! whore!

outside  under the coverlet of night
chinese girls like dolls  chatter over drinks

words are underagents in their souls
light is a reflection off their nethers


i consider the street  the vectors
of pleasure and pressure

l'appel du vide is strong this evening
but there is nowhere to call

  what do wrists have to do
  with teeth?

hark! a metonymic ghost approacheth!
the panic behind the drywall shows

the cadence of the police siren onslaught
reminding me of the skeleton's dance

  the foot bone's connected to the—
  ass bone

meanwhile  his sister places a dot on his forehead
they feed a crow  and highfive an ox

faster and faster and faster they spin
sister  crow  ox/cow  dog  brother

  the teevee news sez
  father said she choked on milk

but we scrutinize every batch
on the nose (though the nose runs away sometimes

still  i tell myself  despite all the
donkey favours  people will make it gold

  it will probably rain  i ought to
  gather my spindly and broken thoughts

but when I straighten my back  my face stiffens
suddenly  i feel my mother in my eyes