got BIFF with mama

to r.

people across were
taking eons to
calculate the nexus between
digital and analogue
while i was contemplating
the stiffness of the 통
in relation to its 홍합,
larger than life
and looming over me

the policeman would
have thought otherwise,
his sharp acuity would
have detected a combination
of 파전, 김치두부 and 계란말이
which concealed the 막걸리,
the beers from nagasaki
and before

but like rumi who was
intoxicated with something other,
i was submerged
between the sea of
japan and the east china
sea (south and east?)
drunk with stuff that
gives green light
on breathalyzers,
at box offices and
entry into a prized domain

where わが母の記 (waga haha no ki)
was only incidental
under the arches of the centum
and the veil in which i
remember koji yakusho
every ten years
from tampopo
to shall we dance
then babel,
and now this surprise

encounter of breezes
in a drive-in of
mammoth proportions,
human mobiles that
look up to air ducts
of tusks wrapped in foil
crawling within and
climbing without the
stairwell overlooking
the audience rather than
the film kissing
as toto did
in paradiso

without first,
a spatial reconnaissance
of the grand cinema inside
as if an opera house
from atop in darkness
attending to the liaisons
of don giovanni
without last, being
i(r)uminated by a
splendour of neon lights
and the incessant chants
of 감사합니다s and bows
at the exit of nonchalance

the same rhythm,
automobile on the road
drummed in the
beat of dialogues piled
up in fonts on mists
decorating the mountains
rarely seen in grey,
w(a)ndering if

the sea without calling
is baptism by
syn(a)ptic gospel
releasing neurotransmitters
and giving birth to
venus with hair cut,
in a renaissance
in which Botticelli might
after so many years
reconcile with
ma.ma.lu.

d.