YuHeng's blog

The kitchen whirls
A scalding breath, stirs 
The pungent sauce, sizzling 
The rust-flaked pan, burnt. 
And then the stump of a cough,
Corked and twisted,
Stretches the hooked feet
With a clatter of images;
The light breaks
With an apparition
Of traffic--
The shades sheathe in shades. 
One must devise the ways 
To trail down the street
Leading… leading… 
The ground is not ephemeral
The rocks are not soft,
Waiting
At the intersection where shadows meet.
The heat drizzles, 
Lifts 
The shadows 
That 
Smoked, 
Cooling.	
Like currents recurring,
We plunge down with soft heels.
The clouds drift,
The sun shakes,
Unfolds 
The shaft of emptiness 
Towards the vacant room;
The cracked torrid floor lies
With circumspection of the heavy air. 
And we lie, lying; the sand scrapes
Like a rusted oven plate.