POEM: PUSAN

1.
Summer blows in beneath clouds of yellow dust.
He emerges from the subway to view the cat
and snaps open his knife...

2.
Earlier, he ate dog with raw garlic.
Before slaughtering the beast,
they beat it
again and again.
It turned manic...

3.
He swallows adrenalin infused meat.
Heart pulpitating.
He feels alive...

4.
This coastal Asian city.
His eyes paranoid and sharpened.
An expired visa and nationless.
An emptiness to the streets.
He notices the cat's tail
thick and stumpy.

He holds it and slices away...

5.
When it vanishes he follows
the trail of blood.
It leads through a fish market
down dusty trails,
across car hoods...

6.
He believes in a personal theology.
He believes in his knife.
He believes in talking to the dead.
He believes in counter-language:
engagement
and the glory found in reverly...

7.
By sunrise-he is almost starving-
he sees a new cat.
He removes its tail,
punctures its throat.
Drinks and feasts.
He removes entrails and crawls inside
and staples the stomach closed
and sleeps to muffled traffic.

He dreams: of armies moving down our peninsula
of Buddha's birthday
of people sheltering in the subway
of gnarles hands,
grinding teeth
of shamans dancing in the hills surrounding Pusan.

8.
It's time to rise to the dance,
he says while sheltering
beneath the cat's fur.