last days in beijing

I stared at the sun orange behind a veil and thanked the smog god for ribbons 

of light i breathed petrol and the offgasses of plastic hedonism deeply the herniated 

highways ambulated i held space for the catastrophe and it held me. rivers of congesting 

air coursed through my window gaps. I punched the glass and hurt my feelings the glass 

man came and replaced my pane. Still opaque the fantasy orientalizing itched like a rash 

or an allergy to spicy oysters. so i got drunk and meditated to the sun of an alcoholic 

whose sympathy wavered in the mirage. a bloodshot lantern with holes where light 

should have squared its idiom. the blunted tones of a sloshed palette turned my words 

to congee lacking treasures.