75) A Freeway on a Cloudy Day

       Wolran Kim

It is the perfect weather to tap memories

No road to run on, on the earth

I’d better not be commercial considering loss or gain

When swiftly running, I paid a toll with vomit

Even though the humidity increases sneeringly

I’d better not sympathize with funeral songs

(FYI, the forecast got it right. It will be blurry over the weekend.

A rollover accident of the sun. Still, I’d better not feel so unlucky.)

If I raise my upper body of overcast, there is a home of clouds on my forehead

If I climb over this vain genre like a hill

The time of 80 mph goes into the sky with the rare disease

It’ll disappear into a monologue like a word tail game

I’m a water drop right before an explosion, drop by drop

The new continent hanging a floral wreath of light is uncertain

No sun like a stigma of utopia!

Red lights blink despair at every clover-shaped interchange

The wheels are delayed from that

Still the routes cannot be changed

Under the construction sign that overturns the road often

Barricades line up steadily as lifeboats

An electric current swirls cutting off the words of the sun

It is leaking through opened damp windows like a search bar

I, who was exiled from the rainy land to the dry land

And don’t want to be awake today

Am taking a servile attitude like a Negro in the slave era

A fragrance of fascism spreads by a version of shade

It stays like a small fine on the speed limit

Under the stopped handle like a needle of the control panel

The one-way is flowing like a subtitle