I. in my mist-swathed dreams, i am driving,
blindfolded by horizontal gravity to the glow of my sputnik’s
disparate love
and though i am pulled headlong ““ i feel at once the
swarming rushes of air
falling towards the surface, abandoning me,
leaving me behind.
i know i am singular; only the desperate lights overhead reach
for me in parallel rays that do not converge. and the embers of
headlights, faint blinking approaching ““ they percolate
through me they do not touch me. even the sweet grand trees (who
lie still)
advect their tears upon me, bearing sad eyes and upturned palms.
and at some point (for time has lost definition), the Sam Sam and
Jet Flot whirls surround me ““ spiraling me into wavering
sprawls of despair until i settle,
wipe glimmering blurs from my eyes
and find myself alone in my bed, beside you. II. (epilogue) on
love:
how things came back
to where you had started ““
a track of years in laps of monotony it is a star, the shape of a
concubine ““
the breadth between you and I.
Nguyen is a third-year English and communication studies
student.