by Vaughan Rapatahana

Xi'an Times

hellacious
black,
the colour,
of skies,

season
   indeterminate…

it might be Spring:

one would
never
know.

(they kept the weather under wraps.)

those
thin
coal-inspired
flecks,

            up
snorted ^
frozen nostrils,

as one
cycled
on icicled
days,

a reminder
of what might be

should
the penumbra
ever
wink
enough

to show
the scrawny butts,
shared sputum,
grafted
solid
to
snapped
pavement.

(they billed us automatic heating.)

& when
the bike
was pinched,
I stumbled
the mire,
feeling my way
myopic,

never sure
where
Xi'an
went,

where it wanted
to
go.



New Territory English

Kwok Li
      dozzzes,

bushy head d 
           r
            o
              o
                p
                  e
                     d,
would not matter
awake:

knows no more,
cares
even
less.

some
   other
       gweilo

always

glibs & goes,

while

Shakespeare

never

came at all.


Mr Pang –

deskbound –

dreams
         downs
                 t 
                 a
                 i
                 r
                 s,

new N.E.T
       needed:

(so what)

only

his

        roses
on a windowsill

        in
Wan Chai

slip
^ his defences.

      r 
     i i
asp   ng
panel chair
can't
proply
pronounce
properly

&
Kwok Li
still
snoozes
        any way.

no
one
uses English
                      here

no
one
ever
will.

new territory 1,
english 0