I would rather steer a song into flowers
than repeat what I saw: your breath pawing
and your lips fastened together, the incredible
beginning of the woman across you.
You flare up at the shoulders. You are a bulldog.
You are spoken for. You are inside the advent
and I am all but an adoption of a joke. I am a hoodie,
I am awake for dinner and possibly for the burnt fashion
of jealousy towing in, leaning towards the ends
of what is acceptable. It is a trap.
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More About
EJ Koh
EJ Koh is a poet, translator of Korean poetry, and author of experimental novel Red (Collective Presse, 2013). Her poems have appeared in TriQuarterly, La Petite Zine, Narrative Magazine, Columbia Review, among others. She has work forthcoming in The Anthology of Surveillance Poetics from Black Ocean Press (ed. Andrew Ridker Black Ocean, 2014). She has been featured in Time Out New York, GalleyCat, KoreAm Journal, and FlavorWire’s 23 People Who Will Make You Care About Poetry. She earned her Masters of Fine Arts at Columbia University in New York and was awarded a Kundiman Fellowship for Poetry and The MacDowell Colony Fellowship in New Hampshire. She blogs at thisisEJKoh.com.