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that i have gone far beyond the boundaries
of an easily-marketable civilization—
have mired myself in greasy bowls
of teppanyakki. liking it. licking it.
behind the stainless steel horseshoe counter,
unsmiling chefs fry up brown meat,
greens, and sesame oil—
creating a lazy bouquet
of oily wildflowers. and i am glad
to have a smoking field in my belly
to take home, if i ever leave.
(a blank postcard says:
i’m never coming home.)
i am in the
wilderness
of downtown t’ai-chung—
crumbling plains littered
with rusting scooters lazing in the sun;
wild dogs roam the back streets;
star fruit and pear apples are displayed
as finely as british jewels;
chicken living in skyscrapers
made of wooden crates
stacked higher than any ambition
i have to leave.
a
blank postcard says
by dani couture
from: midnight
grocery,
©2004
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