This city has seven rings, bad air and a piece of my jewelry.
That earring of lapis and quartz, now closer to home
Than ever it was in Appalachia.
Here's a city that wheels the roads like fish schools
with frightening appetite. Platters of Peking Duck
warn me as I devour its crispy delicious skin.
It’s a city of red doors, masked faces and a piece of my incisor.
Now this tongue, worried and raw, craves sweet longan fruit
and milk tea. I am another door, chipped but open.
This city demands guts for steaming hot pots and morning courage.
My slumber has climbed aboard Coriolus currents, I wake
more dream than dreamer, more breath than blood.
This city expects backbone, an open wallet, and a warm coat.
Turtle dragons embody the emperor. All lean into their work.
Harmony, the hardest task master, reigns from the inside out.
Here is a city with three feet, its silent anarchy in black leather boots.
A young foot reaches for tomorrow, the old one gathers bygones,
in this moment, a webbed foot is paddling furiously.
The red city wears the world around its neck like its eighth ring, and as
I squat to pee in the ladies room, Christmas music wafts in.
The perfect seasonal pop culture for our shopping pleasure. Enjoy.
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