Trying To Get it Cultural

Carrie Chang

When the river dries up,

there will be words wasted on

Your cloud of suspicious trill, something

to climb up deep into that sand-castle

In the ovoid fish-bowl, and watch

the mimiko cat raise its first howl,

if only you knew how

to catch the five torrents,

and suck the seaweed of discontent,

See the whirlpool of iridesce

In mirrors that have been left behind,

then perhaps you’d know

the after-effects

of day-glow tears, of weary years,

and perhaps, my friend,

The participle of an end.

See it bend.