Crystal Kay in the Tokyo Dome

 

aidoru

we seek      believe

aidoru      aidoru

like an Egyptian with such a figure

goddess

princess

temple of the royal highness

Cleopatra in the land of the rising sun

coloured all through black      the singer

Korean coloured all through black      the singer sings

sways in Japanese

this is a sold-out crowd in Japan

there will be more sold-out crowds

more and more sold-out crowds

she sweet-smiles

she puts spells on one-sided lovers

aidoru      aidoru

she is soft glow

she fancies herself

she vogues every lyric

she spins her free hips around

she becomes the body of her black and chosun people

her in the kaleidoscope lights flashing

our escape      our pain

more and more sold-out crowds

she gestures her hand slight

she brings angels down

she      the absolute first

everyone sees her

aidoru

aidoru

diva of the divine derivative

singer

charmer

the absolute first on the platform

to climb Japan’s pop chart

to be big now to be worshipped now

beat by beat

 

(Both R. R. Reese and Crystal Kay are of mixed African-American/Korean parentage. More on Crystal Kay here. On YouTube here.)

 

 

Walk on Jeju Isle

 

large lavender Roses of Sharon – romance

we smile at each other

from the trail of the garden

where we kissed each other

this spring      sweet shrubs

purple flush

flowers of the land

we are mild and fair with each other

like the lovelight of morning sun

lavender – lavender

the canopy of the Rose of Sharon blooms

in fire

 

 

A White Shirt

after Wallace Stevens

 

In the thick of the hundred machines stitching

the only things pacing faster

are the shoes of the white shirt

 

She’s on the double-shift track

faster than a locomotive

but still there are double the white shirts

 

The white shirt frisks in the restroom stalls

my imo is a big party for loss prevention

 

The hands and the pedals

are one

the hands and the pedals and the white shirts

are one

 

She can’t see what hurts more

the pain of infection

or the pain of intimidation

the white shirt hums

on and on

 

Steel links chain the main doors

with American locks

the copper keys of the white shirt

ring      back and forth

the song

jingle by the copper keys

an indisputable wait

Hello      the thick pockets of the haves

have you not heard of five-minute lunches

do you know how the white shirt

circles with arms

of chrome around us

 

She sees private labels

colourful      indulgent fabrics

but she sees too

the white shirt tangled

in all she sees

 

Whenever the white shirt’s gone

pokes and probes at the bottoms

of more than a few women

 

In the eyes of the white shirts

sweat on silk seams

the dresses of Koreans

clinging      heavily

 

My imo sits at her workstation

in gate-locked warehouse

my imo

 my imo      hears

the copper keys

of the white shirt

 

The handbags outpacing

the white shirt must be pushing

Night-time      again      night-time

stitching

stay stitching

the white shirt marches

beneath the green exit sign

 

 

The DMZ

 

they want to kill me inasmuch as curiosity kills me

long warding border      razors on the fence      but

they just watch outside till I see them out      or

they just watch till I leave them

everyone who faces the fence      each and every

morning they stare      each and every morning

and if shots pop off the tennis shoes may have to break out

there is no return      never running faster than in

the live fire      the smoking barrel      the tracer light

there is nothing they want to see more      nothing

they want to show me more than      the wasteland

that widows their home at the waist      me

the south they never live on      but will die for

me      messenger      mediator on the fence