Poetry / December 2015 (Issue 30)


by Michael Tsang

after the Tianjin explosions

                                          the souls
                                   of nineteen-year-old
                                      contract firemen
                         were lulled to sleep in this crater,
                     in exchange for the chicanery of
         schemes and diktats and coups,

               at ground zero, the glass balconies, hundred-yuan notes,
               bicycles, teddy bears and dildos were not annihilated.
               they simply sublimed,
               transferred through this dark portal to a parallel universe
               where the portal itself does not even exist, their owners
               do not live twice.

         some comrades will now party in the cyanogenic ecstasy:
            roasting caged rabbits on the bone ash of sedans,
               giggling at the shovels of quack decontamination troops,
                   ruminating the fucks and holy shits in their viral videos,
                       manifesting the correct way to nuke an ecology park.

                                         no, there was no explosion,
                                               only an implosion
                                               of money and lies.
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