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I eat up Korea in a bite
spit out by great Malaysia, prostitute
Thailand, opium shop-house Singapore;
I cannot digest everything I am
the mess of lines and wires
that form the brain that sends signals
to type these words.
the yellow dust
the red dust
the pollution
the smog
the fog
the morning dew
they call themselves
the land of the morning calm
the rest of the day is a fucking disaster
of people walking right at you, spitting
wallpapering trees with menial ads
spoiled girls in name brands who don't know
that people in other countries
aren't wearing loincloths
then they blame it all on America
the place they think has all fat people
eating hamburgers born into riches
greater than those of Alexander and
the Persian Empire.
copyright 2009
Ralph-Michael
Chiaia |
