run while you can

Myself, my heels, my tracks.

The season's coldest shoulder. Icheon, South Korea. Winter 2011.

Here, homes, stacked story upon stories.

Here, densely populated solitude dwells.

(An unknown women, a pink restroom,

putting on more mascara, saying:

“This is for myself, my heels, my tracks.”

Never having been, it is impossible to know;

hardly walking in my own, I can’t in hers).

The music, in different words, indifferent tone.

All alone, all the blame: loneliness, speechlessness.

Here, silence, secretly devouring bits of chocolate.

Settling for a full stomach rather than a farm.

The season’s coldness shoulder turns, shrugs.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s