Clouds over Hanoi

Hanoi, for you, I without family come 8,000 miles
I, the flâneur, walk between your glass gods and carapace-husks
take in electric smoke, petrol fume
welcoming Sodom where I go 

here our dreaming Gautama stuck in never-black night 
the very dead patriarch greeting eternal a fleeting sun
and why shouldn't the world (this flesh monopoly) 
also reel a crusted cheek out of its starry hole? Nonetheless

a woman bentback on stool 
cooks her luncheon patties, smiles to me
waves the broth-drip noodle, mint sprigs, with a tong
I not unwelcoming sit

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sonnychasm

Literature, art, science, travel. Writing fiction, non-fiction, poetry. Always wrestling with language.

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