walking through the park at night
looking for the back of your head
the life i may have lived
in another world
(how many times each day
do we pass ourselves
arching off the sky
"where i wouldve gone"
-- and are you beatboxin' in the park tonight?
-- did we just pass never knowing only both thinking
are we the chubby cheeked
hand in hand
children running up the street?
(i coulda sworn those were our ghosts when smiling for false memory)
and does our dongsaeng know i went to paris first?
back when she was still dreaming of the day?
(and whose footsteps do i follow?
usually i just say "langston's")
how close are we every night
in the artist's park?
round a boombox
how is it that we can be so
here in this land of the ever great river of
i am building bridges to find you
will we ever intersect?
(i carry you in my pockets)
or maybe this bridge is for
my own return to
need for knowing
... tell me little brother
should i look for your (dreaded) head of hair
in the park of boomboxes and beats?
(we are so related)
and will our sisters
and will our mother weep?
tell me life
that i never got to live
do i look for you
here in the land of
because so many days
i think i pass the answer
on the street
from the park
in between the shouts and beats
from near to where
somewhere up the street from this
kim thompson. wed 15 feb. 2012. seoul. s. korea. sometime in the late afternoon