by Brian Carey Chung

(from Balconies, The Return of Errant Desires series)

The tiered rice paddies are
beautiful destruction—matured—

Grasses celiac roots—muscle of the earth,

The painted face of a sitar bulges
from a book in my periphery.

o barren woman—felt and understood.

To him who sips his gin in wavy linens
a sensation of ants.

A roadside saint mirage.                       My own

bottle of wine and its trapped giggles
are the crooked vine and a country.
In this heat, Visiting Spirituality,
who can say where sensation begins
with its clumsy speech and bodily functions—

waste—I’d give anything

for a little company these long, luxurious days


Brian Carey Chung
Howdy. If you are here you probably: 1. read the magazine cover to cover (Go diva! Comet and I love you!)  2. are searching for names (hmmm . . . ok. You found one.)  3. read my poem and just had to find out who wrote it! (Cool. Thank you!) I'm a Chinese/East Indian/Scottish American born in Kingston, Jamaica. That's just the outside. On the inside, I'm a dancermusiciandesignerpoet. I have always worked as an artist (thank the universe); then: as a dancer in New York and SF; now: as a content editor and web designer. I make poems because the act pleases me and is great company all the time. I'm slowly getting my MFA at SFSU am a member of the Squaw Valley Community of Writers. Groove on!


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