Kenji Liu



For Hattori Yoshihiro


Ruffled chest wrapped
in disco gold, in pyrite chains
and tuxedo boogie. Ah, ha, ha, ha.
Painted with the fever of burning
lights, wings of heaven on your shoes.

The republic of meat hosts
this Saturday dance. Wants to
embroider notes in your frame,
wants to pluck the tendons
and tender fibers of you.

Reversal of numbers.
Your suspicious protein splayed
to the butcher’s eye, how strange
its fibrous pieces, dangling scraps
before him. Ah, ha, ha, ha.

And how unpalatable your meat
to his homeowner’s heart.
Feel the city breaking, his revolver
tattooing, tarnishing the night.
Ah, ha, ha, ha.
Ah, ha, ha, ha.


Kenji Liu