what do you k
now about sej
ong daewang
ng = o = a cl
osed open a c
onstant ring/h
um a consona
nt a con i lost
my train of t
alk k is simpl
e enough but
t vs t’ or wor
se ch vs ch’ o
ne is aspirate
d the other as
piring to win
d winded a ya
eo yeo o yo a
nd so on this
is logical oo
yoo eu ee so
und the way
t h e y l o o k l
i k e m y m o
t h e r ’ s m o
uth laughing
when i say i
t wrong what
does that so
und like you
ask listen you
have to listen
with your act
u a l m o u t h

Real Thing

“I am bored of charging my vibrating toys whenever I am in that mood. I want to feel the real thing inside... Shilling dreadful mantle deliverance side- track. Salt of lemon old boy.”—spam email

Tequila sunrise on a liquid mister vengeance I am him. I want to plug anything but myself into a wall. Hey big one. Until you showed up I opened my mammal tongues. This time I am thinning to winter, millisecond. Slant rind. I want to feel it: a star-chart pulse a bottommed pit an organ grinding orange in the teeth. I am in the mood for bad news tonight. For the wrong kind of burn as it goes down. I am bored of grinning whenever happy, weeping when dangled by the heel. I want to bite the hand that pours, to purl cistern centella asiatica / aardwolf offspring / I will spit my scales into your drink and beg for crit. I want to watch your eyes when my nouns start crowning, when predictive syntax scatters old boys club. Election with an accent get it. Meddle and salt, I’m feeling fraudulent. I’m feeling myself. And blurred and blooming. Like a wrench, in your teeth.