Poetry
© Lennon Wall Hong Kong

Two Poems

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Begins Mid-Way

 

Writers take stories from city to city. 
Some people read in the airport, about cruelty,
‘unforgivable havoc’. The night heaves into day,

windows juxtapose. Only the cushions,
overnight, fall silent. Chinese calligraphy
meets full-gear missions.

It is impossible to replicate a certain kind of love – 
every political movement has a unique tune.
We are each a pair of parentheses,

an outgrown womb, explicit. 
Our flesh takes on additional hues. The tongues
learn new and swiftly crystallised slogans.

At some point, behind closed gates,
some are missing. No right nouns 
or verbs can narrate hidden chronology.

Sentences about us begin mid-way; enough 
light comes through. Enough hope.
We continue to be with this city.

 

 

Sometimes a Dream
 

In a dream my body 
is large. Tables stacking up on me, 
people feast while I watch.
My eyes sprout fingers.

In another dream you enter
my dream, me. You say we are
both dreamt up by another you
somewhere else eating a walnut.

A third dream hosts 
only defaced books. 
Some characters remain:
door, mouth, vagina, opening.

Sometimes a dream forgets
it is a dream. It unfolds a scroll
of ancient calligraphy.
Millions of people, water flows.


Image © 香港連儂牆 Lennon Wall Hong Kong

 

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